Either Mad or Both

The Perils of Multi-Tasking

2011-09-11T21:39:00.001-07:00

Possibly, A's most annoying quality is his attention span. Easily distracted by TV screens and the like he can lose track, at the drop of a hat, of what is being said or done by you or himself without discrimination.

Many a time, the words I say fall on deaf ears. This occurs especially when I speak to A on the phone at work. The genius thinks that just because I cannot see him, he can go ahead and surf on the web or type emails while I'm talking just by responding 'Achha' or 'Hmmm' or 'And then?' at intervals. Sometimes he throws in an 'I love you' or some sounds of endearment to fill long pauses but this is usually so out of context to the conversation that it results in him getting caught for not paying attention. I can always tell, anyway. But the out-of -context 'I love you' is undeniable evidence.

It so happened one fine Thursday afternoon as I was chattering away happily to him during lunch hour that A saw fit to choose that minute to quickly shoot off a reply email to a potential sponsor for his event. As always, I immediately discerned his waning interest accompanied by the faint tap-tapping noise of the keyboard. As he was typing away, he failed to notice my prolonged silence and growing rage.

'What are you doing?' I snapped at him. 'Why can't you pay attention for 5 minutes in the day when I'm talking to you?'

Guiltily he confessed 'Babe, I'm just quickly shooting off an email to someone who may be interested in sponsoring my conference, it just took a minute."

Angrily I responded "Why can't you wait for a few minutes till I'm done talking? It's not like we are going to talk for an hour! The one time in the day that I call you, you can't just listen properly? Then why do we talk at all during work. Let's just forget it..."

I continued in this vein for a few minutes and A hurriedly saved his email to his drafts folder and turned his full focus on smoothing my ruffled feathers and promised (falsely for the thousandth time) that this would never happen again.

After hanging up the phone, A decided to complete and send that email. So he opened it and gave it a quick once over. To his horror, he discovered that he had ended the email in the following manner:

"... and so, I look forward to having a detailed discussion with you on how we may proceed with this proposal in order to ensure that your sponsorship is of mutual benefit to both our organizations. Thank you. Mwah mwah mwah.

Warm regards,
A. R."

The man fervently thanked his lucky stars that he wasn't able to send the e-mail when he wrote it and temporarily retained the lesson that any one with an attention span of a 4 year old should really refrain from multitasking.

And once again, the woman's snapping saved the day.

The Agony and the Ecstasy of the Birthday Surprise

2011-05-24T03:04:00.000-07:00

I suppose it's no secret that I love planning surprise parties. The plotting, the scheming, the agonizing over details, the frustration when the surprisee doesn't cooperate etc.

A's birthday rolled around in May. He was rather down and out this year due to some health issues and confessed that he was rather 'unexcited' about his upcoming birthday. 'Well, we'll see about that, buster," I thought secretly as I patted him on the arm and assured him that we will do something fun on his birthday.

It all started, as most good ideas do, with a pretty boy who lives in Mumbai. This friend of A's recently happened to fly down to Delhi and consequently surprise another friend for the latter's birthday. This was a rather pleasant idea, however, no longer as novel as it once had been. Having pretty boy come down now would have a kind of 'oh it's YOU again' impact on the target audience.

A's other friends were scattered in various continents and none of them would be happening to fly down to Delhi during this period. The surprise guest idea was turning out to be a bit of a flop show. It was then that the stroke of brilliance was errr... struck. I can't bring his friends to him, but what if I get videos of them wishing him and put it together as one birthday video.

Ten days of secretive text messages, facebook posts, clandestine phone calls followed. I do not deny that some amounts of harrassment, bribery, threats, pleading etc. were involved. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, right? Anyway, the videos arrived in sufficient quantity and myriad formats from various corners of the world sent in by close friends and family just in the nick of time - the day before A's birthday.

We played the video at midnight just before the phone calls started pouring in. This would explain my secretive behavior over the previous weeks and throw A off track as to the fact that a surprise party at my flat was also in store for him. Most of the party arrangements had been made and the necessary troops previously enlisted. All that I had to do was tidy up the flat and make space for 20 people while A was at work, receive and refrigerate the cake, and hand over my spare key to trustworthy Pips who would assemble the guests at the flat and wait in darkness for me to bring A to my place at 8.00 pm sharp. It was all planned out. I had even told the guests to park their cars far away so that A wouldn't see and instructed everyone to not call me on A's birthday lest he get suspicious. I was taking the day off to ensure that everything went smoothly while A would be at the office. Everything was accounted for. Except for A that is.

Anyway, the birthday video was a great success. Highly appreciated by A although he spent considerable time asking 'Who didn't send a video?'. Pretty boy and his equally pretty girlfriend had sent in a really cute video 'celebrating' A's birthday in Mumbai complete with a cupcake, 4 candles and a dog wearing a party hat. A's young cousins in Lucknow, for reasons best known to themselves, decided to say Happy Birthday in French subsequently explaining that this meant Happy Birthday in French. A's hulk of a friend in Canada had sent in a variety of videos each progressively more insane than the last. We used a sane (relatively) one in the main video and an insane one in the 'Out-takes' section.

A was sufficiently satisfied that THIS had been his big birthday surprise. A couple of his friends (having been given their scripts far in advance) made plans to take him out for a birthday dinner. All was going according to the PLAN.

Then A proceeded to throw spanner after spanner into the works. He decided he won't go to office on his birthday and spend the whole day with me. 'But don't you have that big conference call, honey?' I said desperately. 'I can take it from home,' said the spoiler. I tried to disguise my reaction of dismay with one of pleasure. One by one some friends of A tried to dissuade him from taking a day off on his birthday much to his puzzlement. In the end, I had to resort to the tearful 'but I was planning to buy you something special as a surprise on your birthday and now it's all (choking sob) ruined!!' A horrified birthday boy promised he will go to work for a few hours so that I could buy his surprise gift and assured me that the surprise was not ruined because he didn't know what the surprise gift was. I am sure he spent those hours in office thinking that I was going to get him that Samsung Galaxy Tab he's been eyeing.

Anyway, A had a rather bewildering day since, when he returned, I had appeared to not have gone out shopping at all. He kept asking me where his 'surprise gift' was and I kept telling him it hasn't 'arrived' yet. We had a nice lunch and then I took A to the mall where I bought him a new shirt to wear for the birthday 'dinner' that evening.

Meanwhile, the troops were busy screwing things up. One friend who was delegated the task of buying the whiskey for the party, realized that it was a dry day in Delhi. Panicked smses streamed in. I in turn smsed various invitees in the NCR area. Finally we ended up with more whiskeys than necessary since all who were asked brought 2 bottles each. Then one of A's friends coming in from Noida got stuck in traffic and requested that A be delayed.

15-16 people waited at my flat, smsing constantly as to the coordinates of me and A. We got ready at A's place. My excuse for taking him to my flat was that I needed to change my shoes. Luckily A is one of those wise men who doesn't argue with women about shoes. A is also only too easy to delay. And so it went on until finally we got the green light to leave his place and proceed towards mine. 'Leave now' was the eloquent text message sent by A's younger brother.

'I'll wait in the car while you go upstairs and change your shoes, then we can go and meet the others in GK,' said A to me in the car. I sweetly assured him that this was fine while inwardly hurling choice abuses at him. I furiously smsed his friend to call and tell A that they will be late in reaching GK themselves so that A would decide to wait at my flat rather than reach the restaurant early. This problem being taken care of, we arrived at my flat. I rushed upstairs while A was parking the car.

Giggling in the dark, we waited for A to come upstairs. And waited. And waited some more.

'What's taking him so long?' someone hissed complainingly from the back.
'What if he gets a call and stays downstairs talking for the next 45 minutes?' came a wondering voice from my left.
'Shut up, everyone!' an authoritative voice boomed.
'Who finished all the shawarmas?' said a shadowy figure next to the dining table.
'Well these guys took so long to come,' came the explanation.
'Sshhhhhhh!!!' I said as footsteps were heard coming up the stairs.

First A rang the bell, which caused much supressed giggling. Then realizing that I must have left the door unlocked, he opened it and stepped inside. The lights went on and 20 people screamed in unison 'SURPRISE!!!!'

I can never forget the look of sheer terror that flitted across A's face for one split second. He looked like a deer caught in headlights for some time before he swallowed and recovered the power of speech. He was delighted and beamed at everyone. Then he looked at me lovingly and pulled me close in a tight hug.

'Aur? Kaun nahi aaya?' he said.

The vital alphabet

2011-05-02T11:40:00.001-07:00

I woke up and stumbled out of bed today, like any other normal day. Rubbing my eyes, I wandered in the general direction of the kitchen for a glass of water where I was greeted fondly by my grandma aka Didu.

Didu is the darlingest person you've ever met. She's short and thin and has lost most of the hearing in one ear. She's had a tough life but always has a smile on her face, a hug for her grandchildren and a chocolate for her great grandchildren. Most importantly, Didu is a gentle soul who would never think ill of anyone. Which made the following pronouncement all the more bizarre.

'Good news,' she said, placing a hand on my arm 'Obama dead.'

'What?' I exclaimed. 'Obama dead? How? When?'

'Americans killed him,' Didu explained and started shuffling away, smiling beatifically.

This was shocking news, but from a slightly dubious source. What had she mis-heard? Or could it be true? Americans killed Obama? It was only yesterday that he was making funny speeches, making fun of Donald Trump. Could Donald Trump have had him killed for this?

But even if he was dead. Why was Didu saying it was good news? I didn't peg her for having any political views, much less such extreme political views. Something was wrong here.

I rushed back into the bedroom and switched on the TV. The headlines read 'OSAMA killed'

Yeah. That makes a lot more sense.

Recipe for Disaster

2011-03-04T00:03:00.001-08:00

A made a re-entry into my life months ago armed with apologies and flowers in prodigious quanitities. We won’t go into the details. That’s not the disaster I’m referring to here.

Tired of the inevitable pizza-burger night because the cook had been MIA for a couple of days, we decided to try our hand at cooking something for ourselves. Pasta (not Sunfeast) and mashed potatoes were penciled into the menu. Some grocery shopping ensued where we were unable to find most of the ideal ingredients and seasonings. We decided to make do with the basics such as butter, cheese, flour, salt with some peas, corn and chicken salami as extras.

I must tell you that my accomplishments in the kitchen are limited to tea, french toast and maggi. A’s may be even less than that but to hear him talk, you’d think he’d apprenticed with Julia Child in his youth.

And so the underconfident and the overconfident set about to make the meal.

I wanted to read the instructions carefully first and make all the ingredients ready to throw into the pot before we actually started cooking. A gleefully started boiling everything in sight before I downloaded the recipe.

When it was time to make the sauce, the instructions specifically said to add the milk right after adding the flour to prevent the flour from turning brown. I told A to hold off on adding flour till I opened the carton of milk and poured the first cup. After I retrieved the carton of milk from the fridge, I turned to see A diligently pouring two spoonfuls of flour to the butter/garlic mix in the pan. A blur of yelling, panic and milk spilling followed. A rather meek and subdued A followed instructions to the letter thereafter.

We finished the rest of food processing relatively smoothly. A burnt his hand and the breads in quick succession.

Some minor disagreements and several dirty dishes later, we surveyed our resultant white sauce chicken ‘n’ corn pasta and mashed potatoes with satisfaction. The disaster struck kitchen with piles of discarded packaging and sink full of dirty pots and pans were surveyed with a somewhat lower degree of satisfaction. A’s younger brother bounded into the kitchen, did a double take at what must have appeared to be the aftermath of a particularly bad fight between A and myself. He recovered quickly enough to focus on what was important – the food, wisely pronounced it awesome, devoured it and made a hasty exit resolutely averting his eyes from the mess in the kitchen.

The maid was not happy the next day. But that’ll teach her for taking an unannounced leave of absence.

We’re doing thai curry next. Pray for us.

The Candidness of Cousins

2011-01-02T09:21:00.000-08:00

The other night my Aditya mama came over. He's 65 plus in age, with a bad leg, a booming voice, and a unique sense of humor. Descendant from the Marathas and boasting of copious amounts of royal blood, he carries with him a regal air and a bluntness akin to a butter knife.

He's very fond of his cousin sisters - my mother and my two aunts. He was especially delighted to see my Raju maasi since she comes over from Mozambique only once a year and is thus, a rare commodity. This delight gradually turned to concern as she tried to encourage him to venture further and further into the social networking world via Facebook.

"But I don't remember half the people adding me," he protested. "Some sardar from school added me. I don't even remember him. Bloody 40 years ago it was. How many people from your friend list do you remember?"

"Well, I don't actually know all the people in my friend list personally," confessed Raju maasi. "I play all these games you know, like Castle Age, where you add people so that they can join your army and help you win battles."

She went on in this vein for some time as Aditya mama listened with narrowed eyes and keen interest. When she was done he leaned back in his chair for a moment of reflection.

"My god, you're off your rocker," he declared. "Participating in wars and all that. Doing battle shattle at your age."

Having thus pronounced his cousin fit for commitment to an asylum, he proceeded to deftly change the subject to some story of the Dalai lama he had heard at an Embassy dinner. "Buddhists do not believe in killing," he said. "So in Tibet, they used to stuff criminals into the skin of a yak and leave it in the sun to dry and shrink until.." He made a grotesque squelching sound and settled comfortably in his chair with smug satisfaction as we digested this rather morbid tale.

"So life is like that you see," he sighed turning to Raju maasi. "But you're completely nuts anyway so how does it matter to you."

Ah, brotherly love. Such a wonderful thing.

Two is Company

2010-07-07T09:48:00.000-07:00

It was a Friday evening that I walked into the doctor's waiting room to find an anxious brother in law, a glowering pregnant sister and an unruffled mother waiting for an appointment. We were expecting twins. But not anytime soon it seemed.

'29th July' announced the doc as the expected due date. Y sat with me on the bench woebegone and looking like the babies would burst out at any minute. "How will I survive for another month?" she moaned.

However, time and twins wait for no man. The very next day, the family is at the hospital and my mother informs me she's sent the car to fetch me because ''something is happening''. The twins arrived ten minutes before I did. Impatient little tykes.

The boys are Cancerians. Just like me. Brought into the world by the very same doctor who delivered me 27 years ago. How cool is that? Yessir, me and the boys'll get along just fine.

My sister wants to call them Arnav and Avinash. We're really not in a position to be arguing with her right now. But the conspiracies are under way. My brother is smsing filmy suggestions like Karan-Arjun from the UK as we speak. Till then 'Pickle' and 'Paapad' remain.

Meanwhile, their older sister Peanut, was rather overwhelmed by it all. I visited her after she'd been in to see the babies. She seemed to be taking things in her stride by then. She even confided in me that Pickle was her favorite. When I asked her why, she declared 'He's mine!!'. There might be some proprietory issues once the family is back together under one roof.

In just a few days I'll be upto my ears in nieces and nephews. Must've done something right. :-)

Strike 3 and Other Events

2010-06-10T10:46:00.000-07:00

Being single is a strange, strange feeling. I know I was single for 18 years but once I started this relationship thing, I've had no space at all to be on my own. 3 'serious' relationships and 8 years later, here I am having been plunged unkindly into the world where 'I' and 'me' replaces the 'us' and the 'we'.

It's weird. I find this entire experience exhausting. Meeting new people. I'm not a fan of people anyway. They suck!! And getting hit on is just plain annoying. Nothing puts me off more than a man who writes 'dat' instead of 'that'. It's a jungle out there. Bah!!

Oh well, at least I have my health!! Haha. Focusing on the positives, people!!!

Speaking of positives, there are good things to focus on. My family is eagerly awaiting the arrival of twins!!! That's right. The ever over-achiever sister Y is expecting a '2 for the price of 1' deal in mid July. If this country thinks that 'one is fun', that motto is completely lost on this family.

So 'Pickle' and 'Paapad' (don't ask) are going to be two welcome additions to this blog in the coming months as will the reactions of their big sister Peanut.

Other things to look forward to are a trip to the US (on work) in September. There's nothing like travelling on company funds, even if it is to the state of Ohio. But I do plan to squeeze in a quick weekend in NYC followed by a few days in LA with my dear friend Aku. She is already planning our trip to Vegas. Travel tips from seasoned fliers to the US are very welcome. If you stay in NYC and want to take me to the city's major attractions, then you can offer. :-) It's a bonus if you're a hot guy. For me, not you.

This has turned out to be one of those rambly posts that I hate. But I'm sleepy and writing in the aftermath of a very traumatic experience, so gimme a break will ya and show me some love.

Goodnight!! Remember that things can only get better!!! Also, brush your teeth!!

Happy Birthday to Y!!

2010-02-11T00:01:00.000-08:00

Surprise parties are clearly the ‘in’ thing these days. Everywhere you turn, someone’s popping out from behind a sofa waving a camera in your face. The question now is not whether there will be a surprise, but what the surprise will be.

Financial Year 2009-10 is the year of the surprise birthday breakfast. Look at the trend – I and friends took A out for a surprise breakfast on his birthday. A retaliated by cooking breakfast for me on my birthday. So when my sister Y’s birthday rolled around, it was really obvious what needed to be done. I’m surprised that she didn’t expect it.

In cahoots were A, myself, Vijay and Mum – in that order of enthusiasm. See, the plan involved getting up really early on Sunday morning (because Y is an early riser) and going to Y’s place and getting everything ready before 8 am (which is when she generally wakes up). Mum especially fought a really intense internal struggle there –between love for child and love for sleep. The former overcame the latter but the fact that the battle had been a close one was made clear by the baleful glare I got at 7.00 am on Sunday morning followed by the pronouncement ‘What a dumb idea!!’

Anyway, we managed to get up somehow and made our way down to Y’s place clutching A, the presents (beautifully wrapped by me), paranthas, pancake mix, juices, croissants, baked beans and an inexplicably empty camcorder bag.

Peanut, the cutest and naughtiest 2 and a half year old, dutifully threw a spanner in the works by waking up extra early and rousing Y. Panicky messages were sent by Vijay followed by updates on Y’s morning routine. Plan B of taking Y out for a morning walk was quickly formulated, abandoned and re-adopted accordingly. Vijay, wanting to keep me updated on Y’s movements at all times, tried sending me a text reading ‘God, she takes so long in the loo!! Bet she is reading a big, fat novel!!’ but accidentally sent it to Y. She was quite perplexed at this unwarranted complaint but he managed to explain it away and deftly changed the subject.

The final message ‘She is tying her shoes now!’ having been delivered to its rightful recipients, we waited for the all clear and speedily made our way to the apartment to set up the table. Peanut, delighted at this unexpected visit from Maasi, Uncle and Grandmom (Didu), darted around excitedly distracting everyone with her cuteness until we realized we’d better get a move on.

We laid out the table and sent a text to Vijay that everything was ready and that he could bring Y back now. Then we hid and waited. And waited. And waited. Peanut thought we were playing hide and seek and ‘found’ us multiple times. But no Y and Vijay. I tried calling him, but to my horror, a cool, robotic voice informed me that the phone was not reachable.

There was nothing to do but wait. And we bore this with fortitude, playing with Peanut in the meantime. For reasons best known to himself, A chose to stay behind the sofa emerging periodically to take pictures of the dining table. Suddenly voices in the corridor alarmed us and we scattered, like confetti to hide in different parts of the house. Click! And Y and Vijay streamed in.

It occurred to me later that perhaps we should have synchronized our appearance in the living room a little better because we gave Y a series of mini-shocks. First I popped out from the store room and Y went ‘Aaah!! What are you doing here?’ Then A popped out from behind the sofa and Y went ‘Aaah!! What are YOU doing here?” Mum only got the ‘Aaahh!!’ bit. A mother’s presence is never questioned. In the midst of this hulla-balloo which she didn’t quite get, Peanut did yoga on the carpet.

Y was delighted and amused. Vijay was relieved. It appears that our ‘all set’ SMS to Vijay reached him moments before his phone died. By then, Y was far into the philosophical zone having had an existential epiphany of sorts. She wanted to have a long ‘talk’ with Vijay about her new phase of life. She vowed that the upcoming decade would be qualitatively better in every way. Enthused, she launched into speech.

Roughly two minutes into the flow, Vijay stood up abruptly and declared ‘Let’s go home! I’m hungry!’ Now Y does not have a great deal of patience with anyone but Peanut. Added to this were the following facts
1) It was her birthday.
2) Her attempt at meditating had already been rudely interrupted by her husband.
3) Her epiphany was being overshadowed by the husband’s rumbling stomach

Upset, she snapped at the hapless Vijay. He noted the irony of this since, moments before she was interrupted, Y had been saying how she should not let small things upset her and how she should not be so impatient and snap at people.

Anyway, all turned out well eventually and we sat down to a sumptuous breakfast. A and I spent the day there and we had a nice party in the evening with family and friends. Y’s friends – enthusiastic Vani and Shome – got Pictionary going. The pink hats vs. the silver hats. Y and I wanted to be on the same team and put on the silver party hats but this was fiercely disputed by the pink-hatted group and by our mother until she realized she was on our team. We were, however, resolute and refused to be divided even though we later realized that while we’re both great at word games and vocabulary games, drawing is not our forte.

Vani and Shome of the opposing team even tried to psyche us out. ‘We’re going to call ourselves ‘the Madonnas'! Do YOU have a cool name for your team?” they said sneeringly. Unfortunately for them, we were more amused by this than disturbed. Our team went on to win the game. High five, Y!!! This despite mum drawing a dog whose ear looked more like a horn sending us in the direction of unicorns and rhinos.

Yes sir, it was a fun day. And hopefully a happy birthday for my big sis.

Well, I’m off now. Got to plan a surprise for the next unsuspecting victim.

Who's the Boss?

2009-08-24T21:33:00.001-07:00

Children must be disciplined from an early age. This implies hardening your heart against their wide eyed, chubby-cheeked faces and being firm. Yes. Discipline is the key.

You may agree. But you haven't met Peanut have you?

Y & Vijay (parents of an active two year old Peanut) decided to take their semi-annual trip - to the movies - and left Peanut under the collectively watchful eye of Mum, myself, A and the K. If we count A, then the adult to child ratio stood at 4:1. Easy babysitting you say? Again, you haven't met Peanut have you?

Now Peanut is a no-nonsense type of child who has a firm idea of what she wants, and as for any contrary opinions issued from the bumbling adults she is forced to deal with, she dismisses as bunkum. All this is made very easy for her, given the fact that she is most adorable two year old you've ever laid eyes on. One quiver of that lower lip will have you waving the white flag in no time.

A had come over armed with Prince of Persia - the Sands of Time. I am introducing A to the joys of the PoP trilogy which has always been and always will be my only interest in the world of gaming. Anyway, we started playing while Peanut was with my Mum. Engrossed with a particularly tough fight sequence, we scarcely noticed the K bringing Peanut into the room with a coloring book and a set of sketchpens.

Under A's otherwise skillful maneuvering, the Prince kept dying at the hands of the big, bad villains so I took over the fighting. At this point, Peanut was sitting quietly on a stool and watching our game quite interestedly. It took all my powers of concentration to finish off the baddies so I ignored the apparent struggle that was taking place to my left. I vaguely heard cries of 'Peanut, no!!' from A, followed by squeals of protest and dismissive 'Aaahhhs' from Peanut.

The noise had died down by the time I was finished. When I looked up from the screen, I saw Peanut sitting innocently on the stool looking at me benignly. I smiled because there was a green sketchpen mark on her nose. My smile faded as I noted that Peanut, A and my cream colored sofa bed were all covered in a red, green and yellow marks. "No, no, no!!" I wailed. "Why did you let her do this?"

A defended himself by saying that Peanut cried when he tried to take the sketchpens from her. I can really see what kind of parent he'll make. The kind of parent who smiles indulgently at the little tykes breaking vases and coloring the walls.

While I had hysterics, Peanut suddenly noticed the colored sofa and gasped as if shocked by this act of vandalism. "Peanut!" I said accusingly. "Yeh kisne kiya?" In response she pointed to A and said "Unkallll!!!" This would have actually been quite convincing had there not been witnesses.

Luckily, we managed to get the stains out with rigorous scrubbing. Peanut was highly amused by it all and tried to send jet like sprays of water in our faces by blocking the nozzle of the tap as we tried to wash her hands.

Yes, Peanut is a naughty one. Unknowingly, my cousin Aparna tried to use her as a model of good behavior for her own two little girls the next evening at dinner. This never augurs well.

"Look, Akriti," she said to her 3 year old. "See how baby Peanut drinks from a glass without spilling anything." At this point, of course, Peanut spilled apple juice over herself and the chair. "Look Akriti," said Aparna, undaunted. "See how baby Peanut is eating ice cream with a spoon and holding it just like a grown up." At this juncture, Peanut decided that a more expedient way to eat ice cream was to lick it off the plate and plied her little pink tongue to the amusement of her older cousins.

On the way home, I sat calmly in the front seat while Y struggled with her squirming baby in the back. She said I must be thinking "I'm never having kids."

You may agree, but then you've never met Peanut have you?

Life.. thus far

2009-07-14T00:03:00.000-07:00

I turned 26 on Saturday. Yep, I’m over the hill and it’s all downhill from here. Having reached my peak physically, the descent ain’t looking so pretty. I can already feel the kilos piling on and after a few years of being effortlessly thin, the thought of diet and exercise is… well I get tired just thinking about it.

Having started on this relatively superficial note, I thought I’d do a QER – Quarterly Existence Review. I guess I should have done it on the big two-five but whatever, I’m not going to live to be a hundred anyway.

And right after deciding to do a detailed QER, devoting paragraphs and paragraphs to different phases in my life divided into ‘Childhood’, ‘The Teen Years’ and ‘Young Adulthood’, I’ve changed my mind. Let me just give you the gist. Childhood – Good, Teen Years – Average, Young Adulthood – Party.

Speaking of parties, let me tell you about my birthday instead. A and I have taken to surprising each other on our birthdays. Last year he threw me a surprise party at my house. On his birthday, I and his friends descended upon him at 6.30 am and took him for a sumptuous birthday breakfast at his favorite place.

Of course I was expecting a surprise of some sort this year, and I wasn’t disappointed. At 8.30 am on the 11^th of July, I awoke to some noise and out of the corner of my eye I saw three shadowy figures with pointy, conical heads creeping up to my bed. No, it wasn’t an alien abduction, but A, Pips and Jun wearing party hats. Before I knew it, a similar conical, pointy hat was plonked on my head and bright flashes of light indicated shutterbug Mum going at it with great gusto.

They informed me that they were taking me out for breakfast, so I went to get ready. You may accuse A of copycat behaviour here but my faith in his originality was affirmed when Pips came in and said ‘A is so unoriginal, doing the same thing for your birthday that you did for his.’ Suspicious behavior followed with Pips heading towards my dining room and calling out to me.

I walked in and what a sight awaited me. A veritable feast was laid out on my dining table. Pancakes, sausages, ham, croissants, eggs, baked beans, apple pie and cranberry juice. And the best part – that it had all been prepared in my own kitchen, mostly by A. The boy made pancakes, fried sausages and boiled eggs!!! For me!!! Apparently the three conspirators had awakened my household at 7 am and had been working tirelessly for over an hour.

Needless to say, it was the best breakfast I’d ever had. And a big THANK YOU goes out to A, Pips and Jun for the surprise – I may have been too sleepy to express it properly at the time but you guys are the best!!! And so is their co-conspirator - my mum.

In the course of my QER, I’ve realized something very important.. It is more important to focus on the people who ARE there with you, than those who aren’t. This may be the only bit of wisdom you will ever extract from this blog. Hold back the tears, please.

When I started this blog, I always wondered who the hell would want to read about my insignificant life. But apparently at least over 10 people do and so, in keeping with my new philosophy, who the hell cares about the billions that don’t. You guys are ‘it’.

There are so many things Red has yet to achieve. Will she ever have a house of her own? Will she ever get married? Will she ever be adequately compensated for her work? Will her hair ever stop frizzing? Will she ever manage third gear? Stay tuned and find answers to all these burning questions.

Bring on number 27. Downhill is easy.

One Man's Poison

2009-06-18T22:32:00.000-07:00

“I’ve lost my cook!!” I announced at work this morning.

“What?!!” gasped my co-worker dramatically. “He died?”

“No, no,” I hastened to explain. “He got drunk.”

**********************************************

Neelamber and his wife Parvati have been with us for over a year. Although in some considerable doubt as to his sanity, we’ve never really confirmed the existence of a drinking issue.

The man has a tendency to lurch around and blabber. This has caused many an unsuspecting visitor to secretly wonder at his seemingly constant state of inebriation. One aunty wondered not-so-secretly.

It was at a dinner party long ago, soon after we had moved into the new place. Dr. and Mrs. H had come over for a pleasant meal in our newly constructed gazebo - inaugural session as it were.

My maasi, my mother and my sister were present at the proceedings and, as they proceeded, we discerned that Neelamber’s manner was distinctly stranger than usual. For one thing he kept proclaiming that all the food was made at home and that we’d no need to order food from outside. For another, he kept hanging around at the table while we ate – laughing nervously.

Mrs. H, having made the mistake of complimenting a dish once (which started the whole ‘Sab kuchh ghar mein banaa hai’ soliloquy), lapsed into silence. Mother re-assured everyone “Oh, he is a little strange, but he’s quite sweet really.”

For the course of the rest of the evening, however, Neelamber proceeded to firmly establish himself as the chief villain, the Captain Hook in my mother’s bad books. By the end of the night she would have called him by many names – anything but sweet.

“Is he drunk?” my mom hissed at me and Y. “I’ll go find out,” whispered my sister and excused herself from the table. She thought she’d just make sure even though we both knew the real reason behind Neelamber’s nervous antics. You see, previously that evening, Y had overheard Neelamber complaining to the K about having to serve the food outside and had ticked him off to no end. So he was scared that Y was going to relate the incident to our mother.

“Parvati says he doesn’t apart from occasionally,” reported Y in hushed tones as Maasi distracted our guests in conversation. Moments later Maasi turned to Mum and inquired softly “Does this guy drink or something?” We muttered amongst ourselves so that our guests could not hear and hoped fervently that they hadn’t noticed much.

Mom finally dismissed Neelamber by firmly instructing him to go and do something inside the house. We heaved a collective sigh of relief. We’d gotten away with it. The chatting couple had noticed nothing. Just then Mrs. H leaned forward earnestly and said in a clear penetrating voice “Do you suppose he drinks?”

A bit of a fiasco really. Dr. H summed up the evening nicely by falling backwards in his chair and hitting his head on the ground. It was a rather horrifying moment but thankfully no permanent damage was done. Except for the chair, which has never been sat on since without some trepidation.

“No, no, he doesn’t drink,” we said. But we were wrong. Neelamber was not drunk that night. But he does drink. And a drunk Neelamber does not confine himself to mere lurching and babbling. His repertoire is not quite so limited as that.

Recent events confirm these statements.

*********************************************************

It all started when Parvati went away last week leaving her sister Yashodha to hold the fort in her stead. It seemed that the freedom from strict wife went straight to Neelamber’s head followed by a bottle of something intoxicating.

Mom came home late last night and was greeted by a frantic Yashodha. Neelamber was drunk and creating a ruckus in the backyard. My furious mother instructed her to not let him anywhere near the house. “I do not want to even see his face,” she fumed. “I’ll deal with this once Parvati comes back.”

And so Neelamber was shunned. But he took it really well. Through the darkness, a disembodied voice coming from the direction of the servant’s quarters floated through the kitchen window to Mum as she was heating up her dinner. It sang a series of film songs including “Pyaar kiya toh darna kya” in the sheer enthusiasm of the tone deaf. It was also accompanied by the sounds of ‘tabla’ being played on the door.

Yashodha clearly was not impressed by the theatrics as the door remained firmly shut in Neelamber’s face for quite some time. Unfortunately, by the time I reached home, all was silent on the musical front.

Neelamber’s fate hangs in the balance. Mom has steadfastly refused to let him in the house despite entreaties and apologies. Luckily, he hasn’t tried to serenade anyone again. It didn’t work anyway.

Peace reigns. For now.

But Parvati arrives tomorrow.

Harry Potter and the Enlightened Idiot

2009-05-31T21:28:00.000-07:00

I have done it!!! I have finally converted A into a Harry Potter fan. Of sorts. Well, a Harry Potter movie watcher at any rate.

A's progression to enlightenment on all things HP related began when I expressed an eagerness for the next Harry Potter movie to come out. A year ago, A had expressed a singular disinterest in the entire series, and since then I had unhappily discarded the notion that we would watch the sixth movie together. However, when I told him that I wanted to watch the movie with someone who would actually enjoy and understand it, he was having none of it.

I must deviate from the story at this juncture to explain that the 'idiot' reference is not to insult A's intelligence. It is actually a term of endearment, in a way. The origin of this name for A arose when I had a need to discuss him with my friend and ex-colleague Pips at a time when our relationship was fairly low profile. We needed a code name for him. 'Idiot,' suggested Pips brightly, without hesitation. He troubles her a fair bit, you see. We used to refer to him as Idiot so much that even now, we call him that while talking to each other. Anyway, back to the story.

Now A, besides being sweet, is also slightly competitive. If anyone was going to enjoy this movie with his girl, it was going to be him. And if enthusiasm didn't arise from the prospect of delving into a young boy's journey in the magical world culminating in an epic battle against evil... well he would generate it from within.

And so, armed with the VCDs of the entire HP series so far, we settled down for a Saturday night Potter-thon. Of course he would never admit this to his friends. Which means I currently have the blackmail advantage. Hahahahaha!!!

A had seen the first one many years ago so we started with Part 2. 'You must keep explaining parts of the story to me,' he told me as the Chamber of Secrets started playing. I readily agreed since I wanted to tell him stuff out of the books that the movie left out.

I must confess that despite my readiness to supply explanations, I did run out of patience once or twice with A's questions. Mostly when he would ask me 'What happens next?' at crucial junctures in the movie or 'Is this a good person or a bad person?' immediately on the introduction of a new character. 'Watch the movie and see,' I would urge/snap at regular intervals.

I lost it a little when towards the end of Prisoner of Azkaban he asked me 'Who is this guy?' in reference to Sirius Black. I smacked my forehead in despair. But it eventually turned out that he meant to ask me why Harry was suddenly being friendly towards Sirius Black when moments ago he wanted to kill him. This I was happy to elaborate on. I sort of went through that exact same metamorphosis in feeling towards Idiot that Harry had towards Sirius Black.

I discovered later that weekend that A is as impatient while giving explanations as he is in asking for them. We were watching another movie on Sunday that he had seen previously and I hadn't. 'Do you know what they are doing?' he would ask me every 5 minutes followed by 'Do you know what is happening?' or 'Is it interesting?'. His moment of triumph came when I actually had a question. He paused the movie, cleared his throat importantly, and with a knowing smile gave me the benefit of his expertise.

Anyway, now A is eager to watch the next HP movie. In fact, he's so eager to find out 'what happens next' that he is almost willing to read the book!!! Almost. His enthusiasm waned a bit when he saw the size of the book.

When is the next movie releasing anyway?

Edited to add: A says his favorite character in the movie is Snape. Personally my favorite character in the series is Ron, but in the movie Alan Rickman is brilliant as the Potions professor. Overall I think casting was poor in the movies. The villains were cast better - Lucius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, even Voldemort. But Gary Oldman just never fit my image of Sirius Black. And I was disappointed with the choices for Dumbledore and Remus Lupin too. Who were your favorite characters and casting choices? And who would you pick to replace an actor you didn't like in a particular role?

Surprise Surprise!!

2009-05-13T21:43:00.000-07:00

I forgot Mother's Day.

Wait, wait - it gets better. Don't judge me just yet.

Sunday dawned innocuously enough. Mum and I plodded through the day, oblivious to the happenings of the outside world. We lazed, went to the parlour, had lunch, napped, watched a bit of IPL and then proceeded to go our separate ways in the evening. She had a wedding to attend.

It was A who reminded me. "Did you wish your mum?" he asked brightly. It shows that I have come a long way in the relationship, because I did not blame (read: smack) him for not reminding me earlier.

We needed a plan. A grand one.

I estimated that Mom would be back home by 10.30 pm. That gave us a couple of hours. "We could get a cake and a gift and surprise her," I said. And so we started visiting the shops in the market. I knew Mom loved gadgets but couldn't think of anything that she didn't already have. Time was running out and we were getting desperate. Desperate enough to even visit Archies Gallery - which we departed from at high speed within minutes of entry.

A suggested that we get a nice frame and put a nice photo of Mum in it. I wanted to get her a frame with multiple slots for 5-6 different photos. However, the only frame like that available was huge and for 24 photos. "We'll never be able to get that ready in time," I groaned. But A the optimist egged me on and we ended up buying the huge frame. A even found the time for bargaining - if you can call wresting a note out of the shopkeeper's hands bargaining.

Armed with the frame and glossy photo print quality paper, we made our way to my house, fervently hoping that Mum had left for the wedding by then. As luck would have it, she had. It turns out that she too had finally remembered the occasion and even sent a taunting message to me and my sister that read 'I hope Peanut (my sister's baby) remembered to wish her mother Happy Mother's Day.' Grinning deviously I merely replied 'Love you' and didn't even wish her then.

Over the next two hours, we searched for pictures of Mum with her children, grandchildren, mother etc. Not wanting to put the original pics in the frame, we scanned them, printed them and cut them out. Time was running out but finally, minutes before 11 pm, we were finally done. We'd ordered a chocolate cake and Mom was due home any minute.

For some reason, A tried to cover up the picture frame. "Let her lift the sheet and see the frame," he advised. A is such a manager. (He had sulked for a few seconds because I refused to buy my mother a greeting card.) Anyway, I removed the sheet because I wanted Mum to see the frame as soon as she walked into the house. A was a bit miffed at this questioning of his authority and tried incorporating the sheet somehow into the scenario by draping it around the frame. But I was having none of it.

Mum finally arrived. We left the front door open and shut off all the lights. As soon as she walked in - lights on, 'SURPRISE!!!!!'

She loved it.

Giving surprises is as much fun as getting them. :-)

He Says, She Says

2009-04-17T04:27:00.001-07:00

Married people develop novel ways of communicating.

Sometimes, he knows her so well that he can complete her sentences. Sometimes, she doesn't need him to say the actual words - a mere gesture will convey his meaning.

And then there's Y and Vijay.

Vijay (having just arrived home from work): Yaar, I need to book those train tickets.
Y: Dinner is ready
Vijay: I was thinking I should book the tickets now, haina? Before it gets late.
Y: We've ordered butter chicken for ourselves. There is aloo gobhi for you.

You see, my sister and brother-in-law, have developed a most efficient mode of communication where there is no need to acknowledge what the other party is saying. Just say what you have to and be done with it. Two parallel one-sided conversations.

Y assures me that I too will start talking like this once married. But I don't know. Partially, this has already happened to me since A already does not acknowledge half of what I am saying since he is always too busy staring open mouthed at some screen - computer, TV, whatever.

I really look forward to married life. Sigh!

Note: There was a time when A and my little niece Peanut were watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang with the same mesmerized expressions - both ignoring their respective plates of food. It was surreal.

Is anyone still out there?

2009-01-17T02:16:00.000-08:00

I haven't been blogging much of late. It has nothing to do with the lack of time either. I've been wondering and wondering about the cause.

And it suddenly hits me, like the sharp blast of cold air from the vent right above my head at office. Life has become qualitatively better in an inexplicable way. It's like each day is so special, that no day is special. You know? It's like every scene in the Johnny Depp movie you are watching is so darn great, that you can't pick just one to describe to another Depp-head.

Maybe that wasn't such a good analogy. But I love Johnny Depp.

Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is that, currently, I am happy - and it's happiness of the unadulterated variety, sprinkled by moments of such extreme hilarity, that I can't stop laughing long enough to blog about it.

Wedding bells, baby girls to kiss and cuddle, perfect shoes that are comfortable and stylish, and a man that you don't want to change. Let's see what else 2009 brings.

Happy New Year!!

Much Ado About Nothing

2008-11-14T03:27:00.000-08:00

So I lost my watch. This led to a slightly confusing talk with mum, in a conversation that was much more involved than the usual ones we have.

Me: (pouting) I lost my watch today

*shakes bare wrist at Mum for emphasis*

Mum: Awwww, where?

Me: (In my head) How the hell would I know?

(Out loud) I think I dropped it while I was in Khan Market? It must have come off while I was putting on my sweater.

Mum: I’ve heard of watches falling off while taking off sweaters, never while putting on.

Me: Its clasp had gotten a little loose lately.

Mum: Guess you should have got that fixed.

Me: You’re a great help in retrospect you know.

Mum: Hmmmm. Do you want another watch to wear?

Me: Well I have another watch. Citizen. Black leather strap.

Mum: Where did you get that?

Me: Saurabh gave it to me. On my birthday.

Mum: Kahaan hai?

Me: (surprised by my mother’s interest in Saurabh’s whereabouts) In Bombay

Mum: No, I meant the watch.

Me: (laughing) Oh it’s around somewhere. It was on the shelf last time I saw it. ‘

Mum: Is it possible you dropped your watch in the car? Whose car did you come home in?

Me: Ujjwal’s. But I checked there.

Mum: What make was it?

Me: (mystified, what does that have anything to do with the lost watch) An Esteem

Mum: NO, I MEANT THE WATCH

Me: (sputtering) Titan.

By the end of it, we were laughing too hard to pursue this conversation.

Anyway, eventually I found my watch entangled in the round metal handles to which the straps to my handbag are attached.

All’s well that ends well.

Man, that Shakespeare came up with some really apt phrases.

Joy

2008-11-10T09:47:00.000-08:00

A brand new little lady has made her entrance into the world today, far away in the UK. I am now a bua as well as maasi, my mom is a daadi as well as a naani and Peanut is a big sister as well as a little baby... well, you get the drift.

My brother's sms announcing the birth of his daughter conveyed no emotion of the proud first time father. It read "Baby girl born at 11:40 am gmt via caeserian section! 3.3 kilos. Mum and baby fine."

The exclamation mark is the only thing in the message that betrays any excitement - and that excitement seems directed more at the fact that it was a C-section. He's a doctor. Go figure. :)

The baby is reported (by her rather biased maasi - my sister in law's sister) to be very pretty and fairer than the fairest of babies born in England. We hope to have some pictures soon. Questions like 'how much hair does she have on her head?', 'what shape is her nose?' etc. remain unanswered as yet. And she is yet to be named.

We're now officially overrun with baby girls. The next generation is yet to see a boy. This baby is the fourth girl after my cousin Aparna's two little daughters and of course, my sister Y's princess Peanut. Woo hoo to female domination!!!

I hope to see the baby real soon, and especially to see Peanut with her little cousin.

Happy birthday, little lady!!!

A Loo-ny Story

2008-10-27T00:34:00.000-07:00

It is a really good thing that I’m allowed to poke gentle fun at A on this blog from time to time, otherwise this story may have gone untold.

*******************************************

In readiness for an impending job interview, A was up bright and early on Friday morning – the morning was bright, not A. For reasons best known to only himself and a dude called Akshay, A had not slept at all the previous night.

Anyway, so A went off for his interview and had a good first round. He then waited to meet the deputy director and thought he’d take this opportunity to relieve himself – not with a smoke, with a leak.

During the course of the interview process, A had befriended a fellow candidate. Their conversation was slightly garbled since the fellow apparently wasn’t very fluent in the English language. This dude had gone exploring some time back in search of the washroom, so A asked him for directions.

He had no way of knowing, that these directions given in English, would eventually lead to a catastrophe of small proportions. He wandered for a bit, walking down the stairs, through a rather, isolated, narrow passage and eventually came across a wooden door. This must be the loo, he thought and went inside.

Finding himself inside the dirtiest loo he had ever encountered, A was in a fix. On the one hand, this loo was the smelliest, dirtiest one he had ever come across. Corpses of insects decorated the floor and a brown kachha-banyan was hung to dry. On the other hand, his bladder was close to bursting. Surrendering to the call of nature, A shut his eyes, his nose and all other sensibilities and went ahead. “What kind of office is this?” he wondered, clearly having second thoughts about the job.

By now, itching to get out of there, A washed his hands quickly. “Lifebuoy soap!!” he exclaimed and a sudden realization hit him. This cannot be the office loo, it must be one used by the guards or something!!

Here, I digress to point out A’s crystal clarity in thought. For A, it was perfectly plausible that the office loo had dead insects and kachha banyans lying around. But Lifebuoy soap??? No, no – not possible. I would have said that lack of sleep had something to do with it, but even on a perfectly normal day, this sounds exactly like the kind of logical reasoning that A would follow.

Getting back to the plot, A was dying to get out of there. Having washed his hands, he shook them dry – ignoring the maroon towel that hung there on the grounds that he had grave suspicions that maroon was not the towel’s original color. He went to the door and tried to open it, but to his horror, it wouldn’t open. He pulled and pulled and pulled until the top portion of the door was bending backwards, but it just refused to open.

“Oh my god, I’m trapped!!,” thought A. “I have to meet the deputy director in five minutes and I’m locked inside this godforsaken shit-hole!!” Panic was followed by some moments of hysterical laughter followed by more panic.

A proceeded to have the following frightening thoughts –

“What if somebody finds me locked in here? How embarrassing!!”

“What if nobody finds me locked in here? How fatal!!”

He couldn’t even call anyone, since his phone had been deposited at the reception. Five minutes passed by, seeming like an eternity to A. He stared at the wooden door for a few moments. Then he raised his hand and gave it a gentle push.

It swung open.

99.99% of the human race would have attempted to push the door immediately after failing to pull it open. 0.01% would stare blankly at it for five minutes thinking of humiliation and imminent death. A falls into the latter category.

I always KNEW he was special.

The Things I Miss Most About JNU

2008-10-08T02:36:00.000-07:00

In no particular order -

I. Annabel
Annabel was a shy and pretty stray dog that hung around my school building. She was white with brown patches, with delicate features and gentle brown eyes. She was wary and skittish by nature, but took a shine to us. Gradually. Another stray whom we named Carlos, had been eyeing her for some time. He was black, he was rebellious - the canine equivalent of one those leather-jacketed motorbike gang members. Clearly Annabel had a thing for these dangerous types (some women never learn). The result of Annabel and Carlos' romance was one small addition to the SIS steps, as we returned to university after summer break. He pranced around our ankles and VJF declared it to be the offspring of A and C. When I asked him how he could say with such certainty, he glared at me and said 'Can't you see the resemblance?'

And when I looked closely at the black puppy with the delicate paws and ears and soft brown eyes, I actually could!!!

II. Scening
Scening was a term coined by Rishabh and loosely referred to all the group's social activities and 'What's the scene?' was a daily problem. The term came to encompass everything we did together, from drinking on the hostel terrace to simply loafing around on the school lawns to watching cricket matches at Rishabh's house. Scenes were a mad blur punctuated by VJF's disapproval at our wanton ways, Sangy's mad laughter at funny and unfunny things, Ranjit lamenting over his latest misadventure in big bad Delhi, Bindiya's innocent and hilarious questions, Rishabh's incessant 'Where is your drink?' followed by his production of your fourth of the evening, Veda's 'latesht' dance moves and somebody always clicking photographs.

I took snapshots in my head. And threw the occasional sarcastic remark.

III. Jeans & Chappals
Sigh!! Formal wear is one of the banes of my corporate existence. I miss the freedom of my jeans and comfortable chappals and the jhola strung over my shoulder. I had even turned up for my first interview in this attire. To think I traded it for the prison of shirts and trousers and worst of all - 'high heeled shoes' (shudder). As a fairly tall individual, I've always shied away from heels of all kinds. I do not want to tower and loom. But one can't wear flats with trousers. I tried. So I went in search of heels that are comfortable. However, the notion of comfort and heels going together proved to be a mere delusion that I was suffering from. "Comfortable heels!," said the salespersons, sometimes with scorn, sometimes with pity.

Now my feet hurt at the end of the day. And I've learnt that all women choose fashion over comfort. At least once in their lives.

Note to boy(s) - Now you know why I am cranky and irritable. It's the shoes, dammit!!!

IV. Pranks
Regular readers of this blog would have heard of the legendary VJF and his passion for pranks. His passion once even stretched to obsession as Bindiya's birthday drew closer. His ingenious idea - to gift her a bottle of perfume filled with rum. Having procured the fancy bottle, he labored over the task of filling it with rum for quite a while. Perfume bottles aren't particularly conducive to refills though and all his attempts (which included using syringes and needles) failed. Thus thwarted by those blasted bottle makers, VJF decided to stop depleting the family stock of liquor and gave up. And Bindiya's birthday passed without incident. Veda wasn't so lucky, since VJF planned for hers well in advance.

VJF is now separated from his favorite victims (Bindiya and Ranjit) by country and continent but continues to haunt them. Last I heard, he was chatting with Bindiya on the net, using an ID under Ranjit's name and spreading rumors about the mild-mannered Madrasi. The triumph of evil over good - enabled by technology.

V. The faculty
Our faculty ranged from the quirky to the downright crazy. The loud Professor B loved making controversial remarks, inciting heated arguments amongst his students. By contrast, Professor P was audible only to those who sat right in front of her, leaving the rest of us with several blanks in our notebooks and considerable confusion over India's foreign policy. Professor D liked to use the phrase 'you know' and inserted it in a sentence whenever he paused to breathe - 'The United you know, States of America you know...'

My favorite professor - Professor M - was endearingly dull and would provide entertainment solely by sliding further and further down in his chair during the course of the lecture, till he was visible only from the neck up. To be fair his subject itself was rather boring. Rishabh, Ranjit and I had found this class dispensable for the most part and we were even chided gently by the prof. himself for our irregular attendance.

I think I attended the class least of all, because when I went with Rishabh to meet him after the semester was over. to find out our grades, he greeted Rishabh warmly and only gave me an indifferent glance. Rishabh chatted with him about this and that while he opened his laptop to check our grades. I tried to enter the conversation by asking him 'So how has the class fared overall in exams?' Prof. M peered at me intently over the screen of his laptop and asked in a most friendly manner 'Are you a student?'

Wow!! Completely wiped from his memory. Even though he'd given me the highest score in his class.

VI. Miscellaneous
Bus no. 615 where guys gave up their seats voluntarily for ladies; my beautiful, wild campus; basking in the winter sun tossing a coin to decide whether to attend class; sipping hot tea in Babu's canteen; endless photocopying of notes last minute at Sanjay Photostat; afghani chicken at Mughal Durbar (a dhaba - don't let the name fool you); the 24/7 dhaba outside of Tapti hostel; navigating the topsy-turvy path to Chandrabhaga; Mohanlal and the surliness of all administrative staff; etc.

Enough nostalgia. One last sigh. Back to work.

:(

My Sunday

2008-09-29T04:47:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday, I babysat Peanut while my sister Y and her husband Vijay went out for a movie. They practically had to be pushed out the door amidst murmured protests of ‘DVD mangaa lete hain.’

After dispatching them to watch Rock On, I turned my attention to little Peanut, who knows I am maasi, but calls me mamma and who thinks I am her personal chauffeur, existing for the sole purpose of carrying her around in whatever direction she points her chubby little finger at.

After this, A and I spent a happy evening at my sister's place playing with Peanut and practicing for an upcoming tournament of the game "Taboo" with Y and Vijay.

** Brief Peanut update – Peanut is one year and 2 months old now. She has learnt to walk recently. She says Ma-ma, Da-da, Na-na, Bwa (Bua), Ka (The K) in tones varying from enquiry to command. She likes to clear tables by systematically depositing whatever lies atop on the floor. **

Incidents from the day -

While I was working at my desktop, little Peanut wanted to clamber onto my lap and undoubtedly wreak havoc on the keyboard. I politely refused, in my most firm, authoritative maasi manner, whereupon she promptly bit me in my left rib with all of her 4 little teeth. (Two on the upper row, two on the lower row – perfectly aligned for the ultimate biting experience). I was pretty shocked, but the K matter-of-factly informs me that ‘Haan, woh gusse mein yeh karta hai’

Add to above update – She bites when angry.

*********************************

Y thought the movie was blaah. Vijay thought it was ok. Their driver Vinod (who has moved to Delhi with them from Bombay) summed up the discussion by disdainfully remarking “Arjun Rampal ke paas to sirf ek Ford Endeavour hai.”

*********************************

A and I had to go shopping. Y instructed us to get Cerelac – Wheat Apple Cherry flavor – for Peanut. A firmly said ‘I will remember it.’ Y countered this by saying ‘You will never remember it.’ Clearly taking this as a personal attack against his cerelac-flavor-remembering prowess, A kept muttering ‘Wheat apple cherry, wheat apple cherry’ at regular intervals during our shopping expedition. I kept telling him that I had an SMS from Y stating the flavor, but he refused to stop. When we reached a grocery store, A leapt out of the car, pushed me aside and ran up the steps of the shop. “Bhaiyya, wheat-apple-cherry flavor, denaa!!” he cried triumphantly. Sighing impatiently, I shoved him aside with my elbow, stepped up to the counter and explained to the bewildered grocer ‘Bhaiyya, CERELAC ka wheat apple cherry flavor chahiye.’

********************************

Y was most amused when I related this incident but she had one to top it. Apparently while we were out, Peanut was studiously destroying the contents of a shelf in the corner of their living room, under the ever-watchful eye of the K. To distract Peanut from her destructive mission, Vijay pointed to her toy monkeys lying nearby and said ‘Anoushka, anoushka – monkey dena.’ The K, who is always eager to please ‘Bhaiyya’ immediately picked up the monkeys and helpfully held them out to Vijay, much to his annoyance. "I didn’t really WANT the monkeys,” he said later, in disbelieving exasperation.

********************************

And the winner is……….

Excerpts

2008-09-15T02:42:00.000-07:00

1. A sure sign that you’ve been taking too many half days or days off from work recently…

Me: (Walking up to my boss at 1pm to inform him that I’d be leaving an hour early at 5pm) Ummmm…

Boss: (loudly and waving) Okay, BYE!!!!

2. Irrepressible mother dear....

Me: Why did you buy kids shampoo the last time?

Mum: What? Kids shampoo?

Me: The Ultra Doux shampoo – it’s a gentle shampoo.. for kids.

Mum: (Grumpily) Oh they all look the same and I can’t be expected to read the fine print.

Me: Ok, except that it says ‘FOR KIDS’ in large green letters on the front.

Mum: Are you making fun of me?

3. Chatting on G-talk with Ranjit (mild-mannered Madrasi friend)....

Me: Achha now read my blog, comment and start blogging yourself. I have to go.

Ranjit: Aiyi captain!!

Me: Was that the madrasi version of aye aye? Then it should have been aiyo. Lol.

Ranjit: Oh shut up and just go!! (Not so mild-mannered, eh?)

4. On the phone - in the middle of a fight with A at 2 am issuing a long string of accusations...

Me: And you don’t even CARE that I am upset!!! (Bursts into tears, for effect).

A: (sleepy, tired, resigned and a little horrified at the waterworks) I am upset that you’re sorry.

Me: Huh?

Baby you can’t drive my car

2008-07-24T03:25:00.000-07:00

My family has really warmed up to A during the last few months resulting in numerous dinner invitations and an eagerness to hear accounts of his latest antics.

I remember the very first time that A came over to the house and met my mum. It was a dark wintry evening and Mum, who had some guests over as well, offered to have some hot pakoras made for everyone. Now A is of the variety that refuses food out of sheer politeness. Mum, taking in his thin reedy frame, cajoled and persuaded. He reluctantly agreed to have ‘one or two’, since everyone else was going to have some anyway. ‘Deal!’ said Mum.

Minutes later, when Mum walked in with a plate of pakoras, and offered A his ‘one or two’, he proceeded to take the entire plate from her hands, much to her amusement. She left us to sample considerably more than one or two and had another batch made for her own guests.

The real fun started when I announced our plan to go to the Big Chill for a dinner of yummy pasta followed by blueberry cheesecake. Mum was slightly alarmed at the prospect of our taking an auto in the cold. She toyed with the idea of letting A take our car out. “Let me see your license,” she ordered.

This moment will forever be etched in my memory - the image of A taking out from his wallet, a battered license, which looked as if it had been stomped on by an exceptionally exuberant hippo a hundred years ago!!! We peered at it closely trying to decipher what had been etched on it.

“This is what UP licenses are like!!” he said defensively, in response to my ‘Yeah right, she’s going to let you drive her car after seeing this’ look. It didn’t even have his photo attached to it

The coup de grace was effectively delivered when he took a loose photograph, pressed it against his license firmly with his thumb, and held it out sweetly for my mother to examine. I have rarely seen my mother at a loss for words.

“Err, maybe it’s better if you take the driver,” she eventually managed, as the power of speech returned to her. “Not that I don’t trust you,” she added, lying valiantly, to A.

Hahahahaha, my mum is so sweet!!!

Anyway, things have gone uphill from there, despite the initial encounters. I still have to tell you of the first time that A met my sister Y.

Another day perhaps.

All Growed Up

2008-07-10T05:04:00.000-07:00

The big two-five approaches soon. I’m getting older and older and there is so much that I still haven’t done. Can’t drive, can’t cook, never lived alone. Bah!!

Asserting your independence to a parent sometimes becomes a problem. Mum has a tendency to be paranoid about my safety and such since I’m the only one of three siblings who has never stayed away from home.

I came home at 12 am the other night and Mum frowned at me disapprovingly.

“12 O’clock!!!” she exclaimed, pointing at the clock accusingly.

“So?” I responded defiantly.

“This is no time to come home,” she complained. “So late!!”

“Arre, its not that late. And besides, I’m a grown up. I’m almost 25 and I can take care of myself!!” I declared.

Having made that statement, I felt the strong urge to pee, so with a final ‘Hmph!!’ for effect, I stalked off to the washroom. As I fumbled with the nara of my salwar, I realized that it was in a very tight knot. Desperate times ensued. I tried my level best at struggling with untying it, but it just wouldn’t come undone.

Now consider the following. You’ve just made a grand statement about how independent and grown-up you are. The next minute you’re rushing out of the bathroom yelling ‘Mummmm, please untie my naraa, I have to pee real baadddd.’

Have you stopped laughing yet??

Yeah, Mum hasn’t either.

Will you be my girlfriend?

2008-05-19T10:56:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I get that a lot lately. From a lot of guys. And some girls.

It all started with A's birthday. For all those who haven't got it yet, A and M1 are one and the same, representing the guy in my life currently and adding up to Blogworthy Item No. 1.

So A's birthday was lurking around the corner - lurking much like A is often accused of doing by my sister Y. She feels that he's always about to pop out from behind a cupboard or something just as she breaks into a dance of joy or some equally embarrassing act. There is a story behind this but that is for revealing at some later date.

Anyway, getting back to the point, A's birthday was lurking. So of course I had to get him THE present. Not just A present - THE present. It had to be spectacular. So I asked him what he really, really wanted. His instant response was 'PS3!!!' My instant reaction ranged from despair to disbelief. I'm not exactly those filthy rich types you know. 'Get real!' I said to myself.

But the sheer enthusiasm of the boy and that dreamy look in his eye - the same look that every guy gets in his eye when he thinks of seventh generation gaming (yes, I have been reading up on PS3) - coupled with the wonders of zero percent financing, made us feel that it was not impossible.

Some couples decide to adopt pets to solidify their commitment to eachother, others go away on trips together. Me and A, we opted for seventh generation gaming.

Anyway, so began a long debate on whether we should buy the XBox or the PS3. Opinions received bordered on the extreme. To help things along I suggested that A call Urfi - a friend and proud owner of the XBox 360. Now I knew that Sony had already won A's heart, but I thought he may as well hear Microsoft out. This is A's end of the conversation that I could hear, as Urfi made a case for the XBox.

A: But what does the XBox have over the PS3?
(Pause as Urfi pitches for XBox)
A: But the PS3 has blue ray technology. From a long term perspective...
(Pause as Urfi continues to pitch for XBox)
A: But my brother says the PS3 is better.
(Longer pause as Urfi plays his trump card)
A: Oh who wants to play games online? That's for geeks... What? Oh you play games online? Well... errrrr... I didn't mean... Hehe..

More embarrassed blabber followed while I gasped with laughter.

After much debate and a lot of protest from A ('No it's too expensive'/'It's a waste of money' etc.), we found ourselves at Sony World on A's birthday. He was hesitant till the very end, until I snapped.

'Look, if you want it, just buy it. It doesn't mean that you have to marry me. And I promise you, if we break up, I will take it back and smash the bloody thing to pieces,' I declared. 'Wouldn't you rather just take it and keep it for yourself?,' he said. 'Why smash it to pieces?' I informed him that it would cause him more pain that way.

'I'd smash it right in front of your eyes!!' I said getting into it. Enthused I went on 'See, it won't be a waste, because if you play it too less I'll sell it! And if you play it too much and ignore me, I'll throw it out the window!!"

I don't know how, but this argument seemed to convince him. And that's how A ended up with a PS3.

This news has had mixed reactions. Some of A's friends accused me of being crazy. The others bowed down to me and nudged their own girlfriends. Those girlfriends shook their heads at me disapprovingly for setting a bad precedent. Other girls thought it was great idea.

I had a short conversation with Another Brick in the Wall. He didn't beat around the bush - 'I love you. Will you buy me a PS3?' I politely declined the offer. He still tried valiantly, using the logic that he really loved me and that since nothing could happen between us he would need the PS3 to help get over me. I didn't really fall for it.

He even lined up three of his friends who all wanted to meet me. They swore they would be loyal and not look at anything but the PS3. Sigh, what boys will do for love.. for the love of gaming.

I even got propositioned by my best friend Manusa. I told her I'd bought A a PS3. Her first question - "What is a PS3?" Her next question - "Will you be my girlfriend?"

Taureans are a high maintenance bunch. But it was all worthwhile just to see the excitement of a little boy on unwrapping his latest toy. I even resisted the urge to smash the controller on his head as he proceeded to ignore everything I said while he raced his Citroen down the track - the dream of winning enough championships to buy a Ferrari in his eyes.

Instead, I leaned back with a smile. A's getting me diamonds for my birthday, even though he doesn't know it yet.

We Cancerians are no less demanding.

The Man Who Didn’t Want to Go Shopping

2008-05-09T00:13:00.000-07:00

It is a hot Saturday afternoon. Four young people – two men (M1 and M2) and two women (W1 and W2) – are sitting at M1’s house trying to chalk out the Plan of Action.

M1 wants to watch a movie. W1 absently gives her assent. M2 endorses the plan enthusiastically. Iron Man is what the boys want to see. W2 is lost in thought

Suddenly W2 murmurs that she’s rather go shopping. W1 displays some enthusiasm. M1 starts whining.

M1: You girls are crazy. Who wants to go shopping!!! And in this heat???

W1: Well we’re not asking you to come to Lajpat Nagar or anything. We’ll go to some mall.

M1: But what will we do while you’re shopping? We’ll get bored.

W1: Awww, please, I would really rather go hang out in a mall than watch a movie. Please? Just this once???

M1: Once? I’ve gone with you so many times to Fab India.

W1: Errr.. We’ve gone exactly twice. And if I remember correctly, while I bought a grand total of 3 kurtas from those two trips, you bought 11 shirts. Eleven!!!

M1 (muttering): I was just trying to make the best of it.

W1: Well then do that this time as well.

M1 (sighing in martyr fashion): Oh all right, if that’s what YOU want!!!

M2 has remained silent and pensive during this argument. But W2 knows how to handle him.

W2: We can go to City Walk…. And eat at KFC.

M2: YEAH!!! KFC!!! Lets go!!

And so the four make their way to the mall in question. M1 continues to sulk all the way. As they reach, the girls decide to stop first at Shoppers Stop in the mall adjacent to City Walk.

First the girls look at shoes and move on to look at shirts. M1 and M2 find a seat and start grumbling about how boring all this is. The girls try on their shirts and by the time they get back to where they have left the guys, M1 and M2 have disappeared. They are subsequently discovered in the Levi’s section. M1 buys 2 pairs of jeans. W1 and W2 buy the guys a shirt each to make up for their so-called suffering.

The women are happy and satisfied with their shopping. M2 wants to rush to KFC. W1 needs to give something for alteration so M2 and W2 go to Blackberry’s while they are waiting.

As soon as M1 and W1 enter Blackberry’s to meet up with their friends, M1 scuttles over to the men’s trousers section and busies himself with selecting some. Like a man possessed, he starts arming himself with a mountain of shirts and trousers. W1 and W2 look on in amusement and the salesman’s eyes light up. M1 tries on all the trousers and shirts and makes his selection. By this time the other three are starving and urging him to hurry up.

M1 is clearly under pressure now to wrap things up. He dumps his chosen articles at the cashier’s desk for billing and quickly takes a count.

M1 (suddenly barks out): Quick, quick – get me another shirt. I need to buy one more!!

For some reason, nobody questions this and all scurry around the store grabbing the 3-4 designs that M1 has not already selected. Luckily M1 likes one of them. His purchase is complete.

W1: Ummm, what was the urgency with buying one more shirt anyway?

M1 (as if it is the most obvious thing in the world): One more made it four shirts in total na!

W1 is left to wonder whether M1 has some fetish for even numbers.

Finally the four make it to KFC. The shopping is complete.

In the end, W1 bought 1 pair of sandals, 1 pair of jeans and2 shirts. W2 bought 2 shirts and a pair of sandals.

But the man who didn’t want to go shopping walked away with 2 pairs of jeans, 4 pairs of trousers and 5 shirts.

As they leave the mall, M1 mulls over the 16000 bucks he has just spent.

M1 (to W1, with feeling): I am NEVER going shopping with you again.

Sigh!!!

Is Anyone There??

2008-04-27T10:18:00.000-07:00

Yes yes I realize that it’s been a long while. But I’m back now.

For a long time it was just mum and I in the house. Recently our household has witnessed certain additions – some familiar faces, some new.

My sister and her husband have moved to Delhi and are currently staying with us. This means that I get to see adorable little Peanut everyday. And she is wonderful. This also means that the eccentric ‘K’ is back in our lives to wander around looking lost and generally cause inefficiency wherever she turns.

We’ve had a little bit of competition over little Peanut.

Y (lovingly to her baby): Say mama… mamaaa..
V (proud Papa, not to be outdone): PAPA!! Say PAPA!!
Me (can’t resist): Maaasiii, can you say maasi?

But mothers always win don’t they.

In addition to these three, we have acquired ourselves this married couple to work for us – Parvati for the cleaning and Neelamber for the cooking. Neelamber has even managed to get me to eat breakfast – something that my family has been trying to do for years. I just can’t resist when he asks ‘Badaa didi’ (Y) what she will eat and then turns to me and says ‘Aur chhota didi?’ with such hope in his eyes and the look of disapproval and disappointment which follows if I refuse.

Anyway, its all one big happy family at the moment. And its nice to come home to it after a long day at work.

Note: The last four months have been unbelievably hard. And it’s thanks to friends like Suk, Urfi, Pippee and my sisters Y and Mini that I’ve survived. A special thanks to A for pulling me out of a very dark hole.

BAH!!!

2008-01-23T09:49:00.000-08:00

2008 is not working for me.

It shall officially go down in the history books as the year of upheavals.

First of all, due to very arbitrary restructuring at my office, my entire department was dissolved in a single day and I’ve been put into another project team altogether with my job profile drastically diversified. All this happened as a direct result of my boss quitting and moving on to greener pastures. Just in case I don’t sound bitter enough – I blame HIM!!! I now dislike going to work (‘welcome to the club’ you say? I can HEAR you).

Secondly, I’ve shifted to a new house. After 24 years of living in the same place, this is a huge deal for me. I mean, everything significant that has ever happened to me in my entire life, has happened while I was living in that house. I hate the idea of strangers living there. But the new house is bigger, better and I might get a dog. Silver linings and all that…

And as if all that wasn’t enough…

The G-unit and I have decided to part ways for a while. (You gasped right then, didn’t you?) In the six years that we’ve been together, this is the third time that we’ve decided to split up. For all those who are close to me and us, I’m sorry that this is how you’re finding out but I just CANNOT go into explanations right now. It hurts too much and I’m dealing with it.

We had a lot of issues which we just couldn’t ignore any more and all I’m going to say is that we had our reasons. Although I’m not shutting out the possibility of us getting back together eventually and working things out, for the first time, I’ve acknowledged to myself that maybe the G-unit and I aren’t going to end up together forever. Since for the last few years I’ve been planning my entire future around the belief that he was the one for me, it’s quite simply the scariest thing I’ve ever had to face.

The good news is that I haven’t lost my sense of humour. I’ve lost a boyfriend, a best friend, my date for Saturday nights. And my driver.

That’s 2008 for me so far.

I repeat… BAH!!!

Note: Ask me no questions, and I won't have to kill you.

I Could Change The World

2007-12-15T01:47:00.000-08:00

I actually wanted to title this ‘The iPod Revelations’ but the rules did not permit. This is a tag and a rather elitist one at that. But New Age Scheherezade tagged blogdom at large and besides, it seemed like fun.

The rules of the tag are thus -
Rules:1. Put your MP3 player on shuffle
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. You must write the name of the song no matter what. No cheating!

So here goes.

IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY?” YOU SAY?
Don’t Cry (by Seal)
Hmmmmmm. That’s an odd thing to say unless you’ve kicked somebody in the shin for asking you that question.

WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Heaven (by Live)
Spooky. My iPod really knows me!!!

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Alive (by Pearl Jam)
Dude that is sooooo true. In fact it’s the very first criteria of friendship with me.

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Take it Easy (by the Eagles)
Today, Yesterday, Everday.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
Boogie with Stu (by Led Zeppelin)
Where is Stu? I must find Stu? Any Stus out there?

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
In a Little While (by U2)
Haha!! Never do today what you can put off till tomorrow.

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Dude Looks Like A Lady (by Aerosmith)
Wow, considering that I am a lady, that’s a real shocker.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
Nothing but Love (by Mr. Big)
Yep.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Coming Back to Life (by Pink Floyd)
And I think I might just one of these days.

WHAT IS 2+2?
Mr. Crowley (by Ozzy Osbourne)
That didn’t make any sense. Much like the artist of this song.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Goin’ to California (by Led Zeppelin)
Now THIS is spooky. Because she IS going to California.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
In and Out of Love (by Bon Jovi)
Not with me I hope

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Decadence Dance (by Extreme)
Hehehe. Is it?

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Crazy Little Thing Called Love (by Queen)
I am already grown up. And half there.

WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Animal (by Pearl Jam)
Why do I like this person again?

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Ain’t Comin Home (by Silvertide)
Hey ma, have you been tampering with my iPod? Ok, she doesn’t read this blog.

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Get Over It (by the Eagles)
Dedicated to the almosts and the nevers.

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Falls on Me (by Fuel)
Dude they’re playin rock music at my funeral???? Hello??? I’m dead!!! Stop headbanging and shed a tear or two. (It would be oddly fitting if my death were caused by something actually falling on me though)

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Road Trippin’ (by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers)
I frequently trip on roads. Clumsiness is not a hobby.

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Rock DJ (by Robbie Williams)
I confess!! I like Robbie Williams!!

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Welcome to the Jungle (by Guns and Roses)
Yes!!! They’re all animals!!!

WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS?
I Could Change the World (by Eric Clapton)
This confirms that my iPod is all-knowing and all-seeing because this is actually what I am going to title my post.

Ok that was fun. It’s strange that Alice in Chains never turned up once during the shuffle. But I’m beginning to like this shuffle feature.

Now I tag you!! And if you don’t have an iPod, switch between radio channels.

The South Indian to Whom Many Things Happen

2007-11-28T09:08:00.000-08:00

A while back, Koshman wrote a glowing tribute to a certain lovable Bangladeshi on his blog for her birthday. Inspired by this novel way of transcending geographical distances and of immortalizing one’s fondness in words for dear friends on their birthdays, I have decided to do him the same courtesy.

Quick question to society at large – Does this mean I don’t have to buy him a gift?

Anyhow, I met Koshman during our first few days at University. In an overflowing class of 70 odd people (and there were some really odd people) I barely acknowledged his presence during that entire first semester. Apart from Sangy telling me that he wasn’t that ‘nice’ (I still don’t know what that was based on – they became the best of friends later) and hearing a couple of rumours, I really had no cause to notice him.

As groups were slowly formed and solidified by the second semester, the gang as it was to stay was formed, comprising one Red and one Koshman along with the other assorted nuts.

Koshman in my head will always be the mild-mannered Madrasi. To his credit, he did survive for two years in Delhi in spite of his mild-mannered Madrasiness and the consequent limited knowledge of Hindi.

He is also a man to Whom Many Things Happen.

If there is anyone in the world who will give you an opportunity to say the words ‘It could only happen to you’, it is Koshman.

To recount some incidents -
- His bag was picked up by drunk adolescents in McDonalds (let me clarify that they had gotten drunk elsewhere, lest you start thinking evil of that epitome of family fun). Some confusion resulted after one of them passed out and they picked up Koshman’s bag by mistake and left. It was never to be seen again, despite thorough investigations and many a conversation in broken Hindi with amused security guards.
- One fine day, Koshman woke up to find that ants had pervaded his digital camera. I mean really, who hears of ants getting inside your camera??
- Another fine day, Koshman and I decided that we were bored with merely traipsing down the corridor of our school building. For a refreshing change, we decided to simulate skiing. So there we were, skiing and looking nonchalantly insane, when he decided to turn his head and flash a particularly broad grin only to find a poor, unsuspecting professor staring back at him. Each expression was equally priceless – Koshman’s frozen grin fading into horror as he realised he’d actually made eye contact with someone, and the professor’s look of utter confusion, trying to process the rare sight of a tall, lanky South Indian sailing past, pausing in mid-ski only to flash all thirty two of his teeth. At that moment my weirdness paled in comparison.
- Koshman and VJF almost missed their end semester exam on Minorities in the Middle East. I’ve written about this before. They thought it was in the afternoon but all illusions were shattered when Koshman was informed of their error at 10.15 am. Our hero ran all the way from his hostel to the school building, making a hysterical and out-of-breath phone call to VJF, who was inclined to find the whole thing rather funny.

This blog isn’t really big enough to encompass all the things that I have seen or heard of happening to Koshman in the last two years. And to be fair, some of it was a direct result of VJF’s (naam toh sunaa hi hoga) penchant for playing pranks on his favourite victim.

The lot of us have had some memorable times. We’ve stayed up all night just wandering around our sprawling university grounds, we’ve sat on the PSR rocks at sunset with a view of our entire lovely campus – drinking and laughing and trying to unsuccessfully prevent the lovable Bangladeshi from falling and twisting her ankle, we’ve eaten butter chicken and biryani and whatnot at 3 in the afternoon and 3 in the morning at the dhabas dotted around campus, we’ve coined phrases like ‘whatevering’ (ignoring people by pointedly turning your head away from them) and ‘scening’ (all our group activity), we’ve boogied to shady songs with flourishy Spanish moves or jerky Rajnikanth steps, we’ve bunked classes at the drop of a hat just to enjoy the winter sun, made fast friends with Annabel the dog, and Babu and Pappu of Babu’s canteen, we’ve churned out term papers in one day, pulled all-nighters and made Sanjay photo-stat rich with all the notes that we copied, laughed at our eccentric professors, planned trips that never happened, played pranks on each other, enjoyed Mojitos and Long Island Iced Teas at Kylin, gotten excited at the prospect of yet another meal at the Big Chill and so many, many other small, delightful things – please do let me know all that escaped mention here.

And whatever fun I’ve had during the last two years, Koshman has been a big part of it. Yes, yes, so have you other louts, but it’s HIS birthday.

He is one of the best dancers I know. He is a real sport and has borne my teasing and VJF’s pranks with a tolerance that neither of us deserves. He also is one of the nicest guys around. And his pronunciation of Chhole Bhature is to die for.

So Koshman, I wish you a very, very Happy Birthday. You are by far my favourite Madrasi. And I’m sure that VJF, Veds, Binds and Sangy would agree.

Enjoy that trip you’re going on and blog about the last time you tried to take it. After all, Something did Happen.

Driving Ms. Red

2007-11-22T21:07:00.000-08:00

The statement ‘Oh I have a driver’ has a rather interesting impact on most people. It leads them to two conclusions –

(a) That I am 24 and I do not know how to drive. That’s right, folks. I am vehicularly challenged. It’s part laziness and part the absolute conviction that I will run over somebody. At least I have a good reason.
(b) That I am spoiled. Mum is a fairly important person in these parts and so a chauffeur driven vehicle is a mere phone call away. But hey, I’ve done my bit of getting around in autos and buses during the college and university days. So there!!!

Now that is all ok. But I now realize that I might be a bit of a pain for my friends who have to go out of their way to pick me up and drop me home whenever we have to meet. I like to think that my dazzling personality, wit and charm makes up for this.

Oh, shut up!!

The G-unit has borne the brunt of this for many years. He has done so with absolute graciousness and without a single complaint.

But sometimes I push it.

Once the G-unit arrived to pick me up from office. So I walked out of the gate, hailed my own driver and told him to vamoose since I had ‘alternate transportation’.

My mind full of the events of the day and the events to come, I walked up to the G-unit’s car opened the door, nicely arranged my bags on the seat, sat and proceeded to make myself comfortable, leaning back with a weary sigh. It was then that I looked up and saw the G-unit staring at me with an expression of utmost horror from the driver’s seat.. from up FRONT.

Yes, I’d happily climbed into the back seat - bags, baggage, weary sighs and all. Now giggling uncontrollably, I proceeded to get out and climb into the passenger seat. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I managed to gasp in between my fits of laughter. “Well, I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” replied the G-unit.

I’m just full of surprises.

I’d like to sincerely thank all the others who have driven me around. Someday I might actually work up the gumption to drive myself. Maybe I can pick you up then eh?

Hah, fat chance!!

My Kingdom for A Peanut

2007-11-06T02:59:00.000-08:00

It’s a conspiracy!!!

My cruel sister and evil brother-in-law (and I mean that in the nicest possible way) have hatched a diabolical plot to separate me from my beloved little Peanut.

In case you are new here and are wondering about my inordinate attachment to peanuts, let me elaborate that ‘Peanut’ is actually my three-month old niece.

By diabolical plot, I mean that they are taking her to Mumbai.

By cruel sister and evil brother-in-law, I mean cruel sister and evil brother-in-law.

Sigh!!

Anyway, ever since my last post (all of three hours ago), I’ve decided to stop moping around about the fact that Peanut is going to be taken away and take ACTION!!

Because I am a WOMAN of ACTION.

So here is a list of plans that I have hatched so far.

· Plan A – Hope that absent-minded Y and V will waltz off into the airport lugging Peanut’s mountain of luggage and forget to take the baby. (Well they forgot to collect their check-in luggage once after landing in Bangalore and went all the way home before realising it.) But damnit, I’ve noticed that they’re much less wooly-headed since Peanut arrived.
· Plan B – Kidnap Peanut and head for the border. Whenever I use that phrase ‘head for the border’ I always think of Mexico. Visions of Peanut and me wearing matching sombreros and swigging tequilas. I mean milk. Ok, maybe not the best idea. Moving along.
· Plan C – Construct a replica of Peanut and make the switch after entering the airport. Isn’t that what the baby-changing rooms are for?
· Plan D – Have equally or more adorable baby of my own. Hmmmmmmmm.

I’ve never really thought of actually having kids before. Well I’ve barely even thought about marriage yet. I’ve always balked at the idea of sharing the G-unit’s affection with another cute, squalling infant. Not to mention the agony of childbirth.

Example 1 –
G-unit (casually hopeful): Maybe we can have ONE kid SOMEDAY if we get married.
Me (sulkily): FINE! YOU have it then!

Example 2 –
Me (scared): But pregnancies are so difficult. Maybe we better just buy one.
G-unit: You mean adopt one.
Me: Whatever.

But I’ve finally come to accept that I too one day want a family. How conventional. How grown up. Taaliyaan!!

It’s also nice to know that I have extremely supportive friends. Aku (my beloved friend in the USA) and I were chatting the other night. She enthusiastically endorsed my ‘having a kid..someday..maybe’ idea. I do not remember her exact words but they included a suggestion of ‘Aku maasi’ plying the little ones (ones? I haven’t even agreed on one yet) with some exotic cocktail known as the chocolate martini.
Secretly wanting to run right out and try this delicious sounding drink, I dryly remarked ‘Somebody is not going to be left alone with my children.’

Well, well, well look how ahead into the future I’ve gone. Look how far from the original subject I’ve strayed.

Getting back to Peanut, she’s leaving for Mumbai on Sunday. And to add insult to injury, Y is taking with her my long-time maid ‘the K’ to help take care of the little one. You know what that means don’t you? In addition to ironing my own clothes and getting my own tea and juice, I shall also be robbed of fresh material for ‘The K Today – A Never-Ending Series’. Hmmm, shall have to delve into the memorial archives.

Did I mention that I’m going to miss this baby like crazy? No? Well, isn’t it obvious? And I know deep down that none of my ‘plans’ are going to work. I’ll just have to stay content with looking at pictures on Y’s blog, eventually stealing them and putting them up here.

And I’m booking my tickets to Mumbai tomorrow.

This is What I'm Expected to Say Goodbye to in a Couple of Days....

2007-11-05T21:09:00.001-08:00

Excuse me, but I fail to see the humor...

Siliserh or Bust

2007-10-30T10:01:00.000-07:00

The office trip that had been meticulously planned for the last three weeks finally happened last weekend. 15 adults and 3 kids managed to make their way down to Siliserh Lake near Alwar, Rajasthan for a weekend of R&R.

In true corporate style, a thousand lists had been made, lost and re-made. Debates about trip activities had occupied us for weeks before the trip actually took place. Excel sheets for budgets had been drawn up and (I suspect) shall continue to incorporate complex calculations long after the trip is over. Itineraries detailing every action from the moment of departure to the moment of arrival had been drawn up. AR (co-worker and office clown) and I took this a bit too seriously and even allotted ten minutes for potty-time in the agenda along with an outrageous list of dos and don’ts. Luckily our boss has a sense of humor. Hey, I still have my job, don’t I?

This trip was supposed to be a rather covert operation kept strictly within my department. Mission impossible when you considered the number of blabbermouths in my team who once took up an earnest discussion in front of some outsiders regarding the possibility of the ghost of Queen Silika (who apparently died of a broken heart.. we googled it!!) haunting our rooms at Siliserh Lake Palace. We were thereupon banned from eating our lunch together.

All the planning went to hell the minute we left office on Friday evening. Cars got separated and different routes were taken. Some of us got lost on the way and took many a false turn. However, due to the endless number of stops that certain other vehicles must have made, we all magically landed up at our destination together.

Since a majority of us are of the belief that every moment spent not drinking is a moment wasted, we set up right away. The Siliserh Lake Palace wasn’t exactly the luxury accommodation that the name had suggested but it offered a breathtaking view of the lake from its expansive terraces. Having set up our provisions out on the terrace we all sat around in a circle drinking, playing the guitar and singing songs. Eventually, exhausted from the journey and probably by my singing, the group broke up and retired for the night.

**************************************************
The highlights of the trip included the following –

The Safari
The next day (not so much ‘bright and early’ as ‘dull and late afternoon’) we set off to the Sariska Wildlife Reserve. The more adventurous of us decided to take a Jeep safari rather than our own cars inside. Any illusions that we might have held of actually spotting a tiger or a leopard were extinguished when our Jeep driver with a shy pride announced ‘Sir! Partridge!’ when the said bird crossed our path. I think he got slightly offended at our laughter because he refused to make any further announcements unless asked, even when we saw slightly more exotic wildlife.

The ride was worth it if only for the rough terrain that we had to traverse as well as the feel of standing up in an open Jeep with the wind in our faces. We took a two-hour drive around the park, and joined the others at the Mandir in the Reserve. I didn’t take too many pictures because the moment I would decide that something was worth shooting our impatient, laconic driver would say ‘Sir, OK?’ and start driving again. He was a real character with the disturbing habit of turning around to hear us better the moment we instructed him to do something while the vehicle swerved wildly toward the bushes.

This guy also managed to drive us back out of the park at breakneck speed, accomplishing in a mere twenty minutes the two-hour journey he had taken to get to the Mandir. Of course on the way back he did stick mostly to the main road despite our repeated requests that he take the inner tracks and show us some leopards, damnit! His compliance consisted of a thirty second stop at some random lakeside where he proudly gestured at more birds, before he resuming his maniacal driving to get us the heck out of the park. I swear, by the time we got out of there, my hair was stiffened by the wind and dust – I half expected birds to come and nest there any minute.

I had a great time even though we didn't see any of the big cats. SRC (boss/pioneer of the trip/our fearless leader in general) took a lot of pictures, which I can’t wait to see.

The Charades
That evening we resumed the partying of the previous night and started playing dumb-charades. Things got slightly competitive in the middle between the two teams (I can’t imagine why.. dumb charades isn’t exactly the best test of superiority) but we relaxed when film titles (clearly home productions) such as ‘Reshma ki Jawaani’ and ‘Pati fauj mein, padosi mauj mein’ started being enacted.

My favorite part was when SRC was enacting the word ‘loo’. He mimed it all very nicely - entering it, shutting the door behind him, dropping his pants, picking up a paper to read and sitting down. All this was slightly lost on AR who shouted ‘dressing room’ just when pants dropping part had been enacted. Boss gave him a murderous look and was beginning to advance threateningly toward AR when someone thankfully guessed the word correctly.

The Never-Ending Sentence that Transcended Time, Space and all Sensibility
This game was started after midnight and was played by some 8 of us die-hards sitting out in the cold long after the others had gone to bed. Each person had to add one word to the sentence turn by turn. We started with the mountains are low and the oceans are deep but for the next two hours we took it to scenes, plots and descriptive images that you wouldn’t see in your most dramatic soap opera. SRC spiked things up with imaginative words like ‘fungiated’ and ‘gooey’ and ‘anti-podal’ while AR tried to trap people next in line with the use of the leading words like ‘thrusting’ and ‘desiring’. GP would send the sentence in a totally new direction with his ‘howevers’ and ‘rathers’ and ‘symbolizings’. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much in my life.

The Kids
MS had brought along her three adorable kids – a girl and twin boys. They were notorious yet irresistible. They didn't sit still for a moment that they were awake. Shouts of ‘Don’t run there’ or ‘Don’t hit’ were constant refrains from their parents.

It took them a while to warm up to us strangers. I had to play hide-and-seek with them for half an hour before little Rehaan sweetly climbed up on my lap, flung his arms around me and declared that he’d go boating only with me. Of course, I heard him make the same declaration to AR only minutes later and he eventually went boating with a third person entirely. Sheesh!! Kids are so fickle.

But the little darlings were great entertainment.

***************************************************
So all in all, I had a good weekend. We came back to Delhi on Sunday evening rather reluctantly. It was a memorable trip and great fun.

And we’re already planning the next one.

(Note: I'll put up some pictures of the trip as soon as somebody gives me some.)

The New Kid in Town

2007-10-17T04:09:00.000-07:00

It’s hard to break a self-imposed hiatus from blogging, especially when your blog is based on real-life incidents and your life just ain’t that interesting.

But there are always some stories to tell. This is going to be a long one.

Recently, fellow-blogger Another Brick in the Wall passed through Delhi on his way to some god-forsaken town. ABW hails from Mumbai and our association had mostly been through our blogs and gtalk. Yet somehow, the onus of getting him plastered during his one night in Delhi somehow fell upon me. ‘Red,’ he had said seriously. ‘Please do the needful.’

And so I took him along to a friend’s place for a night of food, booze and good music. Noteworthy happenings include the following –

· My guitarist buddy Som and Prestorika vocalist Vaasav performed some of our favorite songs. This was an added bonus for ABW, who loves rock music.
· ABW was relatively quiet. This was highly unusual behavior from my verbose friend who never stops rambling on the phone. But then he was surrounded by 5 loud Dilli guys who were talking in a lingo that he could only partially understand.
· JD the photographer took several great photographs with his professional set up.
· ABW got plastered. Mission accomplished.

But events that deserve an especially special mention are still to follow.

The Entrance of Sugato
Sugato aka Sigo was absent from the scene for the most part. But good things never last do they. He had been out at some beer bash with another set of friends when the news reached him that we had all gathered at JD’s house. He called Som.

Sigo (on the phone to Som): Blah blah blah… (usual incoherent nonsense)
Som (to me): Sigo wants to come over with 4-5 of his friends
Me (to Som): No way
Som (to Sigo): Ok bye.

But this rudeness did not deter Sigo. Oh no. He made his grand entrance some 15 minutes later. Thereafter the fun evening came to be known as ‘The Day the Music Died’.

No song was sacred. Vaasav’s melodious vocals became frequently interjected by tuneless howls. Once Nitesh (Prestorika’s drummer) got over the initial shock, he captured it all on his camera phone. The videos have even been uploaded on YouTube but I’d never inflict that particular horror on the unsuspecting public. Heck, I didn’t even have the courage to watch the videos alone myself.

**********************************************
The Exploits of JD
JD, our gracious host of the evening, is a talented and enterprising young man. But then, my opinion is based on his sober side. The hit story of the evening was undoubtedly one related by Vaasav involving a drunk JD, a ride to Old Delhi and an extremely angry sister.

So JD got extremely drunk one night while he was partying at Nitesh’s place. Sitting on the terrace, he made strong declarations of love for his friends and grandly promised Vaasav a cheque for Rs. 14000 anytime that the latter wanted. I really don't know by what calculations he arrived at that particular figure but that shall remain a mystery. He then insisted on going to Old Delhi for dinner at 1 am and used all his emotional blackmailing skills to convince the others. They relented and made their way to the place in question. A lot of things happened there, but the long and the short of it is that JD threw up in the restaurant, was sent out for some fresh air and was eventually discovered lying facedown next to Nitesh’s car.

Nitesh refused to take the man back to his own place since he lived two stories above ground. So Vaasav, albeit reluctantly (maybe it was the promise of that Rs. 14000), decided to take him back to his own place.

In doing so, Vaasav inadvertently woke up his no-nonsense elder sister who surprised him in the act of carrying JD into the house. JD once more found himself kissing the ground as a startled Vaasav happily dropped him. Extremely angry sister obviously did not buy the lame story that JD had eaten something that did not agree with him.

But the best part was the next morning, when poor Vaasav was rudely awoken by JD demanding to know why he had been brought to Vaasav’s house. ‘Why didn’t you just leave me where I was?’ he said accusingly. Obviously the last thing he remembered was sitting on Nitesh’s terrace. What happened after that never returned to JD's memory.. even now.

Vaasav is usually a gentle and mild-mannered fellow, but I’m sure he could’ve punched his friend in the face right then.

******************************************
Himmesh
Now this is my favorite story, again related by Vaasav. While working for Radio City, he had the misfortune of meeting, in person, Himmesh and introducing him to some random contest winner. Now, meeting Himmesh is a rather dubious prize by any standard. But that is besides the point.

So they brought him to one of their offices. But he took a really long time to get out of his car and come upstairs. So when he finally made his appearance he was asked what took him so long.

‘Arre, aaj jo sabh ho raha hai, main uspar gaana banaa raha thha,’ he replied.

‘Oh,’ said Vaasav disinterestedly. ‘Sunaiye, kya gaana banaya hai.’

‘Oooooooooo,’ went Himmesh, his face screwed up with emotion. Then he stopped abruptly. ‘Bas abhi tak itna hi banaya hai.’

I really can’t imagine how Vaasav must have kept a straight face.

*************************************
THE END (phew!)

To ABW – I hope you had a good time. I know I did. Visit again real soon.

The K Today

2007-09-21T22:12:00.000-07:00

Episode I – The Communication Gap

The K and V (my brother-in-law) have a hard time understanding each other. Actually she has a hard time understanding anything and especially him.

There is some sort of insurmountable barrier there that turns every simple conversation into an involved dialogue often ending in complete misunderstanding - on her part of course.

Once, V wanted an envelope for some reason. In Hindi, this translates into a lifafa. So he asked the K for one. She turns up a few minutes later with a largish plastic bag. V, who is used to this sort of thing by now, was prepared to elaborate - ‘Nahi, nahi – chhota, kaagaz ka lifafa.’

Now the K can process only one piece of new information at a time (if that). She came in brandishing an even larger paper packet. ‘Yeh?’ she asked hopefully.

V eventually found an envelope himself.

It is incidents like this that drives the K to try and make absolutely certain what it is that Vijay wants her to do. And this further leads to conversations like the following.

V: Chai banaa do.

K (reacting with inexplicable shock): Chai???

V (a bit uncertainly): Haan?

K (shock melting into casual disbelief): Aapko??

V (patiently): Haan

K (making sure that Vijay knows what he wants): Chahiye??

V (torn between impatience and amusement): Haan

K (leaving no room for doubt): Dedoon??

V (resignedly): HAAN!!!

Finally, the K was satisfied that she had cracked his code. And Vijay got his tea.

I suppose all's well that ends well. But there sure are a LOT of twists and turns getting there.

Return of the Blogger

2007-09-16T09:16:00.000-07:00

As of this moment, I’m officially back. Had a hectic couple of weeks, and barely have the energy to sit and write this. But I persevere, even though my readership must have dwindled to two by now.

I have a job now. And no, it is not babysitting my niece. I’m all of a corporate geek now, staying in office till way past 6, attending (or rather dozing through) two hour ‘meetings’, so on and so forth.

I joined the company on the 6th of September and was plunged headlong into the crazy world of organizing exhibitions. So my first week at work was far from the relaxed initiation that I presumed it would be since we happened to be in the middle of a major event at the time.

Being completely unprepared for employment, the first major problem that I faced was having nothing to wear. While many of my friends have witnessed me make this complaint while nimbly dodging the six shirts falling out at me from my overflowing cupboard, this time I am being genuine. I was the only one wearing jeans to office for a week. Slowly but surely my wardrobe is acquiring a more formal face. My corporate look remains slightly marred by the ratty ‘jhola’ I continue to carry – the sole remnant of my university days. I need to buy one of them snazzy bags. Sigh.

All in all, I like my job till now. I get to do a lot of writing, which I love, even if most of it so far has been about the electronics hardware industry in India. I like my team which comprises of decent folks around my own age. Best of all, I like my boss who possesses a keen sense of humor. He has won my permanent seal of approval by taking us all out for drinks after the event was over and making me down a large shot of vodka with him (because, the Limca was too long in arriving). For all those wondering, I did NOT get smashed, and eventually left the pub with my senses and dignity intact. No story there people, move along now.

On the home front, Peanut is progressing well. She gets a little bit cuter every day and is the best stress-buster one can possibly have after a long day at the office. Just the other day she said ‘Hi’ to us. Well, it was more like an ‘Ai’ but give her a break – she’s only seven weeks old. And she’s been named Anoushka (Anouk for short). For pictures and regular entertainment please refer to Y’s blog at yonearthnot.blogspot.com.

These are all the major events that have happened thus far. I shall endeavor to be more regular with posts since certain persons have derived a curious correlation between my posts and their bowel movements. Stay tuned for more on the job, the French classes, Peanut, ‘the K’ and other sundry happenings.

The K Today – A Never-ending Series

2007-08-21T03:19:00.000-07:00

Introduction

My maid deserves a lot more space on this blog than one post can possibly accomplish. Therefore I have decided to start this series. It is sure to be a universal hit.

Anyway, let me start by introducing to you, the phenomenon that is known as ‘The K’ – ‘K’ because that is her initial, ‘The’ because there is (hopefully? thankfully?) no one in the world quite like her, and ‘The K’ because it enables the rest of the family to discuss her freely and uninterrupted by her quiet and sudden entrances into the room.

The K hails from Calcutta (Kolkata for you nit-pickers), and she made an entrance into our lives some 24 years ago when I was merely a two-week old baby. Being my primary care-taker, this feisty Bengali has developed a particularly strong affection for me over the years and delights in telling anyone who will listen, a wide variety of stories about me as a baby.

Examples:
‘Kitna motaa hota thha, baap re baap, uthaane mein haath dard kartaa thha!’ she exclaims grimacing and grunting realistically, her back bent, miming the action of lifting what seems to be a one-ton sack of bricks.

‘Mereko toh bahut pareshaan kiya, mere bina sota hi nahi thha,’ she proclaims with great satisfaction and a twinge of regret at the thought that I am now able to sleep without her aid.

Then of course there are the stories of my peeing exploits, particularly the time when I apparently peed in her face. The logistics of this incident (unless I happened to be reposing on her head at the time) confuses me less than the fact that whereas the memory of where she put my clothes eludes her completely the following day, this she remembers. Oh well, I suppose it’s difficult to forget having ever been peed on.

The K is a source of entertainment and of great exasperation in equal measure. She has made us want to laugh and clutch our hair in despair an endless number of times (mostly all at once). She has never failed to raise mum’s blood pressure as soon as the latter returns home from office, to mutilate the languages of Hindi and English with gay abandon, to pointedly ignore the mess that the house is invariably in, to forget instructions relayed minutes ago and to offer long and involved explanations completely unrelated to the question asked.

We really don’t know what we’d do without her.

Parlez-vous Français?

2007-08-09T01:11:00.000-07:00

So I’m going to be taking French classes from September onwards at Alliance Française de Delhi. The G-unit enthusiastically agreed to join them with me. Accordingly, we made our way down to register ourselves for the autumn session..

Occasionally, G-Unit has these fits of boredom – usually while waiting in line for something. As we stood patiently at the counter waiting for our turn, I heard a smug voice behind me saying – ‘My French is actually already pretty good.’ I turned around and looked at him skeptically while he proceeded to make a series of the most ridiculous noises - ‘bloo, blah, bleah’.. well, you get the picture. ‘Beaucoup!’ he added with sudden inspiration. I collapsed into giggles while people around us frowned disapprovingly.

‘I hardly think we should be mocking a language that we’re here to learn,’ I hissed at him. But this had no effect whatsoever and he continued to massacre the language waving his arms in a flourishy manner that he obviously considered very French. Finally I looked him squarely in the eye and said ‘Shut up!!’ in my best imitation of Inspector Jacques Clouseau (btw Steve Martin isn’t a patch on Peter Sellers in the Pink Panther). That did the trick. He had to comply if only because he himself started laughing.

There was a moment of silence as we submitted our forms, but it was not to last. ‘Do you think our roll numbers will be together?’ G-unit enquired loudly. ‘So that I can copy your answers in the test,’ he said matter-of-factly in response to my raised eyebrow, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. The lady checking our forms stared at him clearly regretting that she had just assigned us consecutive roll numbers.

‘Are you going to take this seriously or not?’ I snapped at him proceeding to the payment counter, but he seemed not to hear me. ‘Bet I score higher than you,’ he continued dreamily. I knew from the glazed look in his eyes that he was remembering an Accounts Test we took in school. He sat next to me and copied my answer. I got four out of twenty. He got five.

‘Oh you just got lucky that time, you idiot,’ I said laughing. ‘Our answer was exactly the same. Besides, a five out of twenty isn’t that much better than a four.’ G-unit just smirked at me as if I was jealous of his superior skill for copying. ‘Anyway, there’s no way you’re going to be copying my answers here,’ I added, wiping the smile from his face.

I finished paying my fees as he digested this piece of news. To cheer him up on our way out of the office, I exclaimed enthusiastically ‘Just think, in a few months we’ll be talking away in a whole other language!’ He brightened up considerably. ‘Yeah!’ was his parting shot as we headed out the door. ‘Then we can abuse everybody in French.’

Clearly we are not going to make any friends at Alliance Française.

My World This Week

2007-07-31T23:03:00.000-07:00

My blog has been discovered by family members. It began with my brother-in-law Vijay and spread to my sister Y. They bluntly confronted me with their knowledge and were met by shocked embarrassment. Really, I don’t know WHY I was so embarrassed. But in any situation when your best retort is ‘Phoo!’, it’s time to exit the room. And I did so in a hurried if not dignified manner. Anyway, they’re cool, so it’s ok.

Then my mom discovered my blog address. But I was ready this time. She calmly asked me whose blog it is and I calmly replied that it is mine. Then I calmly went and changed the URL. I doubt if she will try and access it anyway, but still.

Hence, the new URL ‘caught-redhanded.blogspot.com’. Caught ‘RED’ handed, get it get it? Oh never mind.

Sincere apologies to those readers (Sidharth, Sukrit, Mini) who have sent me rather accusatory messages wondering whether I have deleted the blog. There’s no way for me to announce the name change really. So I just hope that the rest of you didn’t panic and simply came here through my orkut profile, where the new link is given. Oh and I have to tell you – Sayantan has commented on my previous post after the change and probably hasn’t even realized that it’s a different URL. Typical!!

On a completely unrelated note, Peanut is finally here. She arrived at 7:01pm on the 27th of July. And I know everybody feels this way about the babies in their family. But Peanut really is the cutest baby ever. I even mustered up enough courage to hold her the day she was born. She opened one eye and regarded me with suspicion but when I informed her that I was the maasi, she stuck her tongue out at me and then went off to sleep.

She was brought home two days ago. Everything has changed. Four adults now sit around and coo at the little princess. She sleeps a lot but this doesn’t deter us. We watch closely for every expression that flits across her little face and are ready with our respective cameras for those sleepy half-smiles. Peanut is a real celebrity. She’s even been regaling us with her special song. It goes like this – WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

My brother-in-law is like the world’s best father. He handles Peanut expertly, soothes her when she is crying and deftly changes her diaper when the princess does poopee. (I forgot to mention that every word now ends with oo or ee like scratchoo, poopee, smilee, fartoo.) Anyway, when he is not around it takes the collective efforts of my sister, my mother and my self to change her.

Y has already deciphered Peanut’s expressions right from the ‘I'm about to wake up’ face to the ‘I’m doing potty and I like it’ face. She has also shown a degree of patience that I’ve never thought she had. Motherhood agrees with her.

I could go on and on about my little niece. But I refuse to be gushy. Even if it is about my cho-chweet, itty-bitty, wittle daaaarling. Damnit!! Well I tried.

Oh, by the way, Peanut’s name hasn’t been finalized as yet. Suggestions anyone?

Better Late than Never

2007-07-16T03:51:00.000-07:00

Sayantan is leaving us. It’s hard to believe. We’ve been joking about it for months now. But the day has finally come and I’ll be seeing him off at the airport in just a few hours.

For all those who don’t know and love Sayantan Bhowmick, let me inform you that this post is about one already well-established fact about his dazzling personality. He is always, always late (no points for consistency).

I cannot even begin to count the number of times that we’ve organized a plan to meet up and encountered this obstacle. We’ve even organized a system to deal with it. It’s called the 'Getting Sayantan from Noida to Delhi on Time (or not more than an hour late)' Plan.

This is a complex procedure best misunderstood in a step-by-step manner.

Plan to meet up on Saturday afternoon is made.
Gaurav informs Sayantan of said plan via phone call or SMS.
Gaurav reminds Sayantan the previous day of the plan.
Gaurav calls up Sayantan on the morning of the plan.
Sayantan does not answer his phone. He sleeps in ignorant bliss.
Gaurav calls up Som (a fellow Noida-vaasi) and passes on the onerous responsibility of waking a sleeping Sayantan.
Som attempts to call on Sayantan’s cell. Sayantan continues to sleep.
Som calls up Gaurav and reports the failure.
Gaurav says “O Behen ke ………, call up on his landline.”
Som calls up on Sayantan’s landline, but kind parents refuse flatly to wake up their poor, tired son.
Som calls Gaurav to be encouraged by more abuses.
Som calls Sigo, who lives near Sayantan's house, finds that he too has just woken up and passes the baton to him along with a string of expletives.
A bleary-eyed but ready Sigo barges into Sayantan’s house and wakes him up.
Sayantan commences his bath.
Gaurav and Som keep calling Sigo for quarter-hourly updates on Sayantan’s state of readiness. This is further reported to me.
Sayantan continues to take a bath.
Sigo bangs on the bathroom door and threatens bodily harm. Laughter emanates from bathroom.
Sayantan finishes his bath and moves on to combing his hair.
Update no. 6, update no. 7 etc. etc.
Sigo tears out a few of his own hairs in frustration.
Sayantan is ready to be transported.
Collective sigh of relief. Phew!!

Summary: Time taken - 2 hours, No. of phone calls - 20, No. of hairs pulled - 23, No. of abuses exchanged - 42, No. of death threats - 0-2.

The only instances of punctuality have either involved airports or purely accidental circumstance. Sayantan, if you’re reading this today – “Get a move on, you have to be at the airport by 7.” (Well, actually its 8, but you have to give him a margin)

This aspect of be-late-edness is not restricted to his time of arrival. Sayantan is also always late when it comes to realizing things. Like the time I asked him to pick up a loaf of bread and a bottle of Coke from the grocery store. You may be wondering how any sane adult can possibly turn THAT into an incident? Well, read on. He complied with my request, also purchasing a packet of chips for himself. Ten minutes later, he said "I just realized that I paid 250 bucks for bread, Coke and a packet of chips." The chips turned out to be Doritos (which cost like Rs. 180).

Anyway, now that he’s going, I’m engulfed by a terrible sense of loss. Our constant source of entertainment is going to wreak havoc in his usual absent-minded manner on a whole other continent and I won’t be there to see it! He shall be sorely missed.

Sayantan, on behalf of myself and the other louts, I wish you the very best of luck with your endeavors (loosely translated this means – ‘Bugger, make lots of money and send us plane tickets to Australia.’)

Oh, and when you come to the airport to pick us up – PLEASE BE ON TIME!!!!

A Peanut for Your Birthday?

2007-07-09T11:21:00.000-07:00

Two significant events are to happen this week. One is my birthday on the 11th of July. The second is the birth of my sister’s baby, affectionately known as ‘Peanut’ owing to its striking resemblance to the legume in its first ever photo shoot i.e. the ultrasound.

Peanut was originally scheduled to arrive around the 26th of this month, but the latest visit to the doctor showed that, much like his mum, Peanut is an impatient soul and is currently preparing to make his grand entry into the world anytime this week.

His imminent arrival has had a powerful effect on the family. Y and her husband are busy making and re-making lists for various baby items; Mum and I are busy shopping for them. We visited the market yesterday and bravely resisted the urge to buy everything in the store simply because ‘it was sooo cute’.

For me, Y’s pregnancy has mostly been an opportunity to crack some basketball related jokes – ‘Hey lady, quit hogging the ball!!’ or ‘Pass it to me, I’m open!!’ But now, the realization is dawning that MY sister is having a baby. The same brat who screamed bloody murder when I tried to steal her stuffed toy, the one who started a water-fight with me in the pool, the one who grimaced and hit me every time I tried to hug or kiss her. Sigh, it feels like all this happened only yesterday. Wait a minute, it DID happen only yesterday!!

In any case, I have no doubts about Y’s parenting abilities. She excels at everything she does – as long as there is no element of high-tech in it. And even if there is, she is sure to find an innovative, if sometimes strange, solution to the problem. Who else would think of covering the light coming from the computer monitor with a towel rather than pushing a button to switch it off? I really hope that she is as creative in raising Peanut.

We do not know if Peanut will be a he-nut or a she-nut. And yes, I have heard the ‘So do you know if you will be an aunt or an uncle?’ joke many times (ONE more time and so help me God….). Either way, I have decided that Peanut will be a rock star – guitar and drum lessons commence from the age of 5. No one else in the family knows this. I think it’s best to just surprise them with it.

I suspect that Y has been trying to pass on the dirty work to me by saying – ‘I’ll be in charge of the upper half of the baby, and you can handle the lower half.’ But I’m standing firm!! No way am I going to be on potty-duty. I have already volunteered to be in charge of the oohing and aahing and all round kootchie-kooing.

Chances are that Peanut will be born on the 11th (that thunder-stealing little….). All my attempts at coaxing him to come out sooner are not working. I even threatened to push him back in if he tries to come out then; ‘Peanut! Go to your womb!’

Y’s take on this was -‘What a birthday!! Cutting your cake with one hand and pushing Peanut back in with the other.’

Now THAT is a birthday you don’t forget!!

There is Hope Yet

2007-06-27T03:08:00.000-07:00

We live in an often cruel world. People lie and cheat and steal. But sometimes…

I once lost my wallet. Well, I didn’t really lose-lose it. What happened was this – Gaurav and I were traveling in an auto. For reasons best known to nobody I had taken my wallet out of my purse and kept it on my lap. As we neared the M-Block Market Area in GK I, I suddenly felt something fall against my leg. Looking down I discovered, to my utmost horror, that my wallet was no longer on my lap. Looking further down I discovered, to even greater horror, that there was a great big gap in the floor of the auto.

In a matter of moments my lightning-quick brain discerned what had happened. All this can be summed up by the following sequence of events:
Step 1 – Wallet falls out of idiot girls lap
Step 2 – Wallet falls through gap in stupid auto’s floor onto the road
Step 3 – Idiot girl screams ‘My wallet! My wallet!’
Step 4 – Idiot girl’s traveling companion and auto driver both look a little apprehensive, thinking that she has lost her last marble.
Step 5 – Bye Bye Wallet.

Basically, by the time I had realized what had happened, stopped the auto, explained things in rushed tones to Gaurav and made him run back to where I had dropped it, some other auto driver had picked it up and zoomed off.

The next scene comprised of me steadily going into hysterics as Gaurav did his best to comfort me.

Me (loudly): Oh God, I don’t believe this!! I LOST my WALLET!!

Gaurav (soothingly): Calm down

Me (louder): WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘CALM DOWN’!! I JUST LOST MY WALLET!!

Gaurav (assuring me that he had comprehended all the goings on): I know. But it’s ok.

Me (aghast at this lack of horror on his part and trying to explain the implications of this dastardly event): WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘IT’S OK’!!! THAT WAS MY WALLET!!! IT HAD MY DEBIT CARD, MY UNIVERSITY ID, MY GYMKHANA CLUB CARD… EVERYTHING!!!!!

Gaurav (flinching a little at my loud tone and looking around uncertainly at the people who had begun to stare): Yes, but it’ll be ok. It’s not that bad.

Me: WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘IT’S NOT THAT BAD!!’ ARE YOU CRAZY?? IT IS THAT BAD!!! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO???

Gaurav (clearly struggling between kicking me in the pants and persevering with his consoling, deciding to take the high ground and opting for the latter): Don’t worry, the first thing we should do is to block your debit card. Maybe we can go to the station too and report the loss of the wallet.

Me (Slightly mollified by Plan A and unexpectedly thinking – “Man this guy can take a lot of abuse. Maybe I should marry this one”): Okay.

Anyway, so I called up the bank and blocked my debit card and then we went to the nearest station where we reported the incident. They took it surprisingly seriously, made out a report and everything. Later Gaurav told me that they were just being nice to me. Hey, it does help to be a pretty girl.

I slowly got over the incident over the weekend. Mother was very understanding and did not say ‘You are so careless, why the HELL were you carrying the wallet on your lap?’

On Monday I decided to go and attempt to get a new I-Card made at University. As I walked into the office of my school building, Mohanlal looked at me and said ‘Aap G....... L...... (my name) ho?’ This was more of a statement than a question. ‘Eh,’ I replied eloquently, this being my first semester and only second encounter with the administrative ‘go-to’ guy. ‘Aap ka kuchh kho gaya hai?’ he asked, completely shocking me. I nodded uncertainly, thinking ‘Wow, Mohanlal is certainly on top of things today.’ How the hell did he know!!! Was he psychic?? Was the University having me followed? It seemed equally improbable either way.

He then told me that whoever had found my wallet had called the University Office from the number given on my I-Card. It was the auto driver who had picked it up. I was sent to the Administrative Block where they gave me his contact number and address. To cut a long story short, I had my people contact his people and got my wallet back (minus the money of course, but with my precious cards intact).

People are so cynical these days. I know that I probably just got lucky. But maybe the world is not such a bad place after all.

Sibling Revelry

2007-06-11T11:16:00.000-07:00

When we were kids, both parents were working and so they were content to leave us to our own devices. And what devices were devised! Those were the days of no cable TV or internet or Playstations or CD players. They were the days of wild imagination and two decidedly weird older siblings.

My brother ‘A’ proved that he was possessed of sadistic tendencies since early childhood by inventing a game called ‘Eeyeh eeyeh’ (said with feeling and something akin to a grunt). This was a three-way wrestling type game where we would grab each other by the shoulder and move in a circle on the bed crying out this war-like chant, which would get progressively louder culminating in a final cry of ‘EEYEH’ when we would push with all our might to make the other two fall down. A, of course, always won but my sister and I were convinced in our wee minds that someday our combined strength would be enough to fell that giant. I am certain that he came up with this game solely due to the lack of a younger brother to scrap around with and the fact that society and parents would have frowned upon his hitting his little sisters. One fateful day, in a burst of energy and enthusiasm, he successfully flung us (not unlike rag-dolls) off the bed and we found our selves hitting the floor, egos and bums equally bruised. In the blur of bawling and shushing that followed was the dim realization that this game would never be played again. My brother, disgusted at what he perceived to be the namby-pamby-ness of sisters, ‘took it outside’ to play with the big boys.

Devastated though we may have been at the loss of one of the troops, we recovered quickly. Swallowing her pain, my sister ‘Y’ decided to exercise her creativity with the invention of ‘German-Referee’ (my family is and always has been mildly insane, just in case anyone was wondering). This charming name was derived from the movie ‘Escape to Victory’ which my brother used to watch many times. However, since he always watched it in fast-forward mode, and generally skipped over to the Pele bicycle kick part, we were left a trifle confused as to the plot and even what a German or a Referee actually was. They were merely ‘cool names’ to us. Added to this was the fact that we had only the one pair of skates between us. I couldn’t skate at that particular time so this made easier the choice of who would be pilot of our shenanigans. Y kindly thought of a way of involving me in the proceedings. The game went thus – she on the skates would latch on to the back of my shirt and I would pull her down the length of our long hallway. At some point I would veer left and run into the dining room whereupon she would let go and continue straight down the hall. Upon finding ourselves separated in this cruel fashion, one of us would shout ‘German, German’ with great anguish and the other would respond ‘Referee, Referee’ in a matching display of the above-mentioned emotion. Talk about your flair for the dramatic eh? That was it, folks, there was no further point to the game. No winners, no losers. That was the beauty of it. This game went on a while, till I got my own pair of skates and learnt how to use them (including threatening to hurl them at my sister’s head if she once more tried to use me as her cart-horse and make me think it was fun).

There were many other games, but I suspect I have already revealed too much about the wild childhood and I’m imagining that after reading this, people will be calling the nut-house and trying to have us institutionalized. Put those phones down people, we may be a little batty but we’re totally harmless!!

The siblings have moved far away now. As adults, this has improved our mutual relations considerably. But I will always be grateful because, thanks to them, my early years were filled with excitement, action, drama and danger (I nearly fell off the top of a cupboard once during a game of hide-and-seek). So here’s to a childhood free from technology and limits to the imagination! May the next generation be so lucky.

The Duh Factor

2007-05-24T02:00:00.000-07:00

Even the brightest of human minds is capable of doing and saying the dumbest things. So all you average Joes and Janes out there – do not despair!!

It is my intention to chronicle the many ‘oopsies’ committed by the people I know. All of them may not be the brightest minds out there, but I can safely vouch for the fact that at least they are smarter than most hippos, most of the time.

As good a person as any to start with is Sayantan. He’s been a quiet guy for most of my experience with him. Recently I discovered why that is a good thing. A bunch of us were relaxing at my place slowly digesting the varied quantities of pizza, beer and wine that we had consumed earlier. It was decided that we should play ‘Bluff’ – a suitable card game that wouldn’t over-tax our under-taxed brains. But here we overestimated the attention span of our fine friend. During one of the early rounds, I started by declaring that I had thrown three sevens. Sayantan who was to play after me, had already spent an irritating amount of time focusing on arranging his cards. He continued for five minutes to sort his hand according to number, suit, color, size, preference, taste, whim and Gods knows what. Our frustrations mounted and we collectively stifled the urge to throttle him. Finally, a good ten minutes after I had started the round, the little Einstein settles down and with a quiet triumph throws down a bunch of cards declaring ‘Twelve Jacks’. This invited a chorus of ‘Are you kidding me, Sayantan?’ from the rest of us before we collapsed into helpless laughter. Sayantan went on to lose the game spectacularly. No one was surprised. Duh Factor – 8/10.

Moving on, I’d like to give you a glimpse into my own sadly misinformed childhood. I used to think that ‘Maike’ which refers to the home of a married woman’s parents, was a place where, perhaps by strange coincidence or even stranger custom, all brides’ parents happened to live. In Hindi movies, the heroine frequently reiterated the threat to go to maike if her husband refused to stop behaving like an ass. There were even songs and dances about it. I imagined a place filled with old couples making ready to shelter discontented daughters, and secretly harbored a fear that my own mother might have to move there someday. I made the mistake once of voicing my observation and the family has never really let me hear the end of it since. Duh Factor – 7/10. Please note that this should not prejudice anyone’s view of the bright and intelligent woman that I have grown up to be.

My sister is perhaps the most brilliant and dynamic person I shall ever know, ranking numero uno in terms of both intellect and achievement. But it’s sometimes a relief to learn that even our heroes are not infallible. An acquaintance once was telling us an involved story about how in the narcotics prevention wing of government, the identity of informants is kept totally secret and protected and that payments are made in the utmost clandestine of manners. He was describing an incident in which such an informant was being paid his reward for tattling at which point my sister asked interestedly – ‘Was it a cheque?’
Subsequent investigation revealed that she was, in fact, not kidding. Duh Factor – 6/10 (I put it down more to absent mindedness than anything else).

My sister-in-law was understandably excited at her own wedding. On meeting and greeting people she remarked to a pair of brothers who were guests from our side – ‘Wow, you guys look so alike, you could be twins!” This comment was received with a rather surprised smile by the pair. She was later informed that they were twins. Duh Factor – 7/10.

Finally, there is the friend RC who woke up one morning and decided to go for his CAT exam to a centre in Ashok Vihar and upon arrival discovered to his horror that his centre was actually in Ashok Nagar. Although this was a fortuitous error which saved him from the evil clutches of the corporate world, Duh Factor – 8/10.

We all have our moments. From B who happily smoked her first cigar without seeing the need to cut it, to S who (the logic of mathematics completely eluding her) indignantly claimed that the shopkeeper cheated her because he calculated the discount at the going rate on the sum total of the bill rather than on each item separately.

So let us rejoice in our stupidity, people. It’s what makes life colorful after all.

This post is dedicated to RK and VJF who missed a good portion of their end-semester exam because they thought it would start in the afternoon. For imitations of a hysterical RK on the phone informing an oblivious VJF of this fact, please contact the latter. Hehehe!!

Something’s Fishy

2007-05-17T09:40:00.000-07:00

A few years back, mum and I decided to take a short trip to a place called Bhimeshwari – to a fishing camp on the banks of the Kaveri river – which was some 90 km away from Bangalore. This was all a product of having flown down to Bangalore to spend time with my sister only to discover that she had very little time to spend.

Now yours truly is a bit of a lazy girl whose idea of holidaying is visiting friends and family, reading good books, going out for the occasional dinner, some customary shopping and most importantly – sleeping till 11 am. Let’s just say I haven’t seen the sun rise too often in my lifetime. And I’m not one for communing with nature either (hey, if you’ve seen one pristine lake you’ve seen ‘em all). But I good-naturedly agreed to go along with the plan, not that I was given much of a choice in the matter. We were accompanied on this journey by a friend of my mother – the delightful Lalitha Aunty.

So I bravely popped an Avomine for my motion sickness and lay in the back of the Qualis (groaning and turning green at regular intervals) while we traversed a rather bumpy road to Bhimeshwari. Five hours later we reached our destination. I dismounted the vehicle and cautiously ventured forth. The place was absolutely beautiful. A glistening river flowed steadily beyond rocks and stretches of sandy beach. We were to stay in a charming tent-style cottage surrounded by tall trees and hammocks swaying invitingly in the cool breeze. Best of all, it was completely deserted – not a soul in sight. It was apparently the off-season so, apart from the three of us, the only other guests were a pair of young men.

After a nap and a bath, we were refreshed and ready for action. The first hour went by with mum taking my picture in every conceivable pose she could think of. I posed for the first few shots (sitting on a rock, leaning on a tree, lying in a hammock and so on) but soon got tired of it and unsuccessfully tried to deter the shutterbug who determinedly captured every one of my exasperated expressions thereon. Lalitha Aunty ambled towards a hammock and announced her intention to laze there for a while. Now hammocks look deceptively easy to mount but they are tricky things and the whole process requires careful positioning of one’s posterior before one can actually lie back and relax. I asked her if she needed any help but she airily replied that she could handle it and plonked herself down on a hammock. It swayed uncertainly for two seconds before gently and gracefully tipping her out backwards and headfirst into the sand. We found ourselves staring at the underside of her sneakers as she struggled to adjust to life from her awkward position on the ground. Torn between laughter and concern, we rushed toward her and helped ease her back into the vertical upright position. Luckily she found the incident as funny as we did.

The next item on the agenda was fishing. Our guide – a gruff man with magnificent moustaches - took us in one of those little round boats to the fishing bank. As we took our little tour around the river we spotted all manner of birds through our binoculars and even a crocodile (or at least we like to think so, it could have just been a piece of wood). We suddenly noticed a fishing rod, or rather a bamboo stick with a fishing line attached to it, floating in the river. The guide pulled it out and we discovered to our surprise that there was a fish attached to the line. Our guide chuckled in pleasure and thrust it at me inquiring whether I wanted to have the honor of holding it. I recoiled in horror almost falling overboard in the process, and refused the offer. Finding no other takers, the guide (rather hurt) tossed the fish back into the water and refused to speak to us for the rest of the way.

On reaching the bank we found the two guests already at it. Apparently they were keen fishermen who had been keenly fishing for the past four hours. They hadn’t caught a single bite all morning and warned us not to get our hopes up. That was just fine by me as I didn’t really want to find out what happens after one catches a fish. Anyway, our guide’s good humor had been restored by then and he had fixed three rods for us. I had rather envisioned those fancy rods that tall men in movies use to cast their lines in the water with a graceful flick of the wrist. As such, I was rather disappointed that we were going to be using the bamboo stick contraptions like the one we had found in the river. Also I had missed the graceful flicking action since he already had one line in the water. He handed me that stick with a grunt and the wise words – ‘if you feel a tug, pull’. I settled myself for a long wait but was surprised to feel a tug on the line almost immediately. Excitedly I pulled away at the line as the other ladies cheered me on. Out came a fish – a pretty big one too. The guide took over at this point, unhooked the fish from the line and, displaying the catch proudly in his hands, started posing for photos. I felt this was rather unfair since I had caught the damn thing but, since I still had no desire to hold it (ugh), I let him have his moment in the limelight.

The other two guests stared in disbelief. They were regulars and hadn’t caught a thing all day. And then this random teenager, who hasn’t so much as held a fishing rod in her life, comes along and, within two minutes of trying, catches a beauty. It was a red carp, I was informed, that weighed around 3 pounds. These guys – Amyn and Aravind - kept telling me how lucky I was, sometimes accusingly as if I wasn’t displaying the correct amount of enthusiasm as befitting the catch. As people around me laughed and talked and marveled, I suddenly noticed a rather satisfied smirk on our guide’s face. Then it struck me how similar the fish I had caught looked to the fish we had stumbled upon in the middle of the river. I grant that it’s difficult to tell two fish of the same species apart, at least for a layperson (I mean you can hardly go ‘that one’s Bob, his eyes are gogglier than his brother Rob’), and especially having only had the one introduction during which one was busy trying to get as far away from the wriggly slimy creature as was humanly possible in cramped quarters. Still it was too much of a coincidence and the smug expression of our guide made me extremely suspicious. This suspicion was compounded when mum and Lalitha Aunty both admitted that they hadn’t actually seen him cast the first line. It all became clear - the man had simply handed me the very same bamboo stick we had found earlier and the fish, still being attached to that line, had been travelling alongside our boat since being tossed back into the water.

We enjoyed the fish at a barbecue that same night. It was hosted by the camp’s manager and we were joined by our fellow guests. Their spirits had recovered by the evening and they joked about how they had been beaten at their game by a novice. As I gazed out onto the sand shining like a carpet of silver in the moonlight, and took in the aroma of a variety of meats being cooked on a grill, I had to admit that it was a happy ending. I had ended up looking pretty good, the fish had been yummy, and the guide walked away with a handsome tip.

I just hope that Amyn and Aravind never find out the truth!!

Fuzzy Logic

2007-04-15T04:23:00.000-07:00

The human mind is a real piece of work. I mean, usually we can take two and two and make four. But sometimes, we take two and two and come up with something that looks like a cross between a pumpkin and a three legged chicken. And the worst thing is that you can’t argue with it. Not with conventional weapons like logic and sanity anyway.

Some of the prime samples of fascinating thought processes come from the idiot box, which never lives up to its name more than while KBC is on. Exhibit A – One bespectacled techie from Ghaziabad.

SRK: Which of these is a monarchy? (a) Austria (b) Hungary (c) Indonesia (d) Bhutan
Geek: I think its Bhutan
SRK (getting to the heart of the matter): Why?
Geek: Austria aur Hungary toh itne door hai, main inke baare mein kuchh jaanta hi nahi hoon.

Despite this, he did get the answer right and eventually walked away with Rs. 3,20,000 after several more displays of his deductive prowess. I’ll give him credit for one thing though – he managed to shut SRK up for quite a few seconds. It was short-lived but sweet.

My own friends and family come up with new ways to astound me everyday.
Exhibit B- In Mumbai after a previously mentioned night at the Hard Rock Café, while traveling home in a taxi, Saurabh wanted to know whether my sister knew his cousin as they both happened to work in the same place. The only hitch was that he couldn’t remember her last name. “Shilpi… uh…. Shilpi.. dude, do you remember her last name?” he turned to his brother for help. Gaurav, who had clearly been giving the matter some serious thought, offered the following theory – “It must be Bhaisaab, coz mom keeps referring to her dad as Ashok bhaisaab.” "Shilpi bhaisaab?" we chorused increduously. But he was quite definite on this point. He had also had one too many.

Mum is a darling and an astoundingly intelligent and talented woman. But she is also Exhibit C, jointly with my sister’s colleague Shome. Sis and Shome had gone to Shanghai for a business trip. They got a local sim-card there and were sharing a cell-phone. My mother decided to call up her other daughter one fine day and the following conversation took place.
Mum: Hello, hello? Can you hear me?
Shome: (Thinks it is his wife who has called) Haan haan. How are you?
Mum (a little surprised at her daughter’s overly masculine tone): Why is your voice so different?
Shome (breezily and with a fake accent) Oh my voice is different because I’m in Shanghaaaai.

This conversation took even more bizarre turns till realization dawned on both sides that Shome was not my sister and that my mother was not his wife (wow, that’s a sentence I never thought I’d say).

In the course of my twenty-three years on planet Earth, I have encountered an infinite number of such ‘logic’ if I may even call it that. But there are term papers that need finishing.

So I leave you with Paresh Rawal’s words in Andaaz Apna Apna – “Main Tejaa hoon, kyunki meraa naam bhi Tejaa hai!” Try arguing with THAT!!

p.s. I know that this is a short one but I really have work to do. And besides, you’ll take what you can get!!!

Boys Will Be Boys

2007-04-06T06:10:00.000-07:00

I generally get along better with men - that is to say boys of the male persuasion - better than I do with women. I have two female friends that I treasure above most people, but the rest of my close friends are all guys. This is not very strange to me. I simply like guys better, perhaps for the following reasons –
- They generally have a good sense of humor, and are unlikely to get offended by anything people say to them.
- They don’t let the small things in life get to them.
- They are essentially simple creatures, who are happy with the basic needs of food and smokes and booze and the occasional girl – mostly in that order.
- They are consistent. They don’t display the same kind of maturing that the fairer sex goes through.

At least my own group of boys display the all the characteristics mentioned above. Let’s take a closer look shall we?

First of all, there is Gaurav (my best friend and perpetual partner-in-crime), who always has an air of what I like to call ‘lazy rudeness’ about him. Possessed with very little tact and an amazing sense of humor, his abilities to crack the funniest one-liners and the cheapest jokes are legendary. Recently, while partying at Siggy’s place, we all realized in a matter of minutes that we’d had enough of our host. He had just finished telling us about his newly discovered use of G-Talk for ‘self-satisfactory’ purposes when chatting with what we can safely presume to be the far better half of his long-distance relationship. Gaurav, who had been unusually quiet for a lengthy period (we all discovered why when we noticed that most of the tandoori chicken had vanished), was completely unimpressed by this and made his sentiment on the subject very clear by declaring “toh kya hua..haat toh teraa hi thha na” Siggy took this in his usual good-humored manner and settled for hurling a pack of cigarettes at his offender’s head. Gaurav responded by casually breaking two of the cigarettes in half to the horror, anguish and collective groans of the chain-smokers in the room. The box was eventually snatched from his hands, thus ending that particular conflict with him having the last word, as is usually the case.

Then there is Sayantan, who will always remain a mystery to me. That little things don’t bother him is apparent when he misplaces his cell-phone or the keys to his bike with surprising regularity and reacts each time with supreme unconcern and a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders. He is without doubt one of the laziest people I have ever known, and has, till date, never been on time for anything in his life. We have now resorted to telling him to meet us at 4.30pm if we want him to show up by 8.00pm. Still, we settle for ‘better late than never’, especially after having been at the receiving end of the ‘never’ on a number of occasions. He spends an extraordinary amount of time bathing and then an even longer time in setting each strand of his hair which always ends up looking exactly the same as before he set it.
Sayantan even disappeared from our lives for a number of months, during which we all conjectured that he was on drugs (because what else would keep anyone away from such a lovable bunch of people such as us) and then reappeared, slipping quietly back into the scheme of things without fanfare or explanation.
He is always the first among us all to get drunk, at which point he will declare that someone else among us is drunk. This is the first sign that Sayantan is well on his way to la-la land and that he will soon fall asleep while sitting and/or in mid-sentence. But he is a sweet and generous guy who hates to offend as demonstrated by the following –
Sayantan (to Siggy – it takes one to know one): What a F*@#*er!!! **Pause** No offense.

Anish is a quiet sort of guy whose one obsession is music. Having been at college for three years, he took another three to take that one pending exam and finally achieved his BA. But we must understand that he had his reasons. I mean, one year he just didn’t feel like it. The second year, he actually made his way to his center with all intentions of taking the exam. But there happened to be some rock band performing at the center and so he decided that there were better things to do that afternoon. Luckily, in the third year there weren’t any distractions for our little graduate. Anyway, he’s moved on to bigger things now, relocating to Chennai for a degree in audio engineering and giving us cause to celebrate *hic* every time he visits.

Som and I have been friends since we were fourteen years old. He was the first to accept me into the gang as ‘one of the boys’ and always greets me with a big hug and a “Red bhai, kaisi hai tu?” to which I always respond with a “Saale kutte”, thus discarding all my feminine charms.
Som has his priorities in life very clear and to him the value of all things material is judged in terms of how many cigarettes it will buy if sold. He is one of the most talented musicians I know and our mutual adulation of Zakk Wylde and Nuno Bettencourt create a special bond between us. If someday, he decides to get off his lazy ass, then he would be a great guitarist. But alas, the ass is as stubborn as he is lazy.
Currently in search of employment, he hopes to get rid of his title of ‘Berozgaar – the Jobless’ very soon. Don’t worry Som, I’ll be joining you soon for the job-hunt.

Last but not the least is Arrow, to whom a number of posts have already been dedicated. As Gaurav’s older brother and the only one of us so far to have a really good job, one would expect him to be the wise, the mature, the experienced, the voice of reason. He is instead the very loud voice of “Lets get hammered NOW!!” His spontaneity and enthusiasm is infectious, and he equals his brother in the wisecracks department. He can recognize, at ten paces, every Hindi movie ever made in just one scene – including all-time horrors like Sone pe Suhaaga and Hindustan Ki Kasam. Among his many claims to fame is his participation, ten years ago, in a basketball team known as ‘the Noida Nikkars’ (they were legends in Sector 25, you know). Need I say more?

I’ve known these guys for about 6 years at least, from the teenage years to the approaching mid-twenties. And they haven’t changed a bit. They may trade in the shorts and chappals and vella time for formal clothing and shoes and jobs, but underneath the clean-shaven exteriors will always be the scruffy, rowdy band of rascals that I have come to adore and cherish. Boys will, after all, be boys. God bless ‘em!!

Story

2007-03-22T07:31:00.000-07:00

All characters in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to any person living, dead or drunk is purely coincidental.

Red woke up at 4 am with a pain in her stomach and no idea where she was.
She sat up and looked around, tried to clear the fog in her head. Then it came to her. Arrow!!

The previous day had started well enough. Arrow was in town for a week. He had brought ice-cream. He was going to take Red and G-unit out for drinks and dinner to their favorite lounge. Red was filled with affection for this enthusiastic and generous visitor.
How was she to know?

They reached Kylin and ordered a round of Mojitos. Their favorite bartender came on the scene and promised them a good time. And he meant it.

By the end of her second Mojito and significant portions of lamb and chicken, Red was feeling content and a little light-headed. Conversation centered around good books, movies and music. ‘I won’t have anything else’ said Red resolutely. But Arrow had other plans.

Soon it became abundantly clear that Arrow was an incarnate of Satan. Red was surprised to find a Kamikaze shooter in front of her. She downed it. What else was she to do? ‘Please, no more,’ she protested feebly. Nobody was listening.

Arrow kept ordering Kamikaze shooters like there was no tomorrow. His attitude was one of ‘If I’m going down, I’m taking everybody with me.’ The bartender was delighted. Such good customers!! Red could almost see the dollar signs light up in his eyes. He just barely resisted rubbing his hands in glee as the fourth round of shooters was demanded. Red was too drunk to care. She drank everything they gave her. And she felt great!! But it was not to last.

Red spoke to numerous friends on the phone. The drinks were making her chatty. The friends at a later stage discussed her state of drunkenness amongst themselves with great amusement. At one point, Arrow called R-man from her phone and had a conversation, which revolved mostly around ‘chicks’ and was overly abusive (on the formers part) considering that they had never spoken to each other before. Red doesn’t know what exactly was said since Arrow soon disappeared with her phone and then, so did her balance.

Fourteen shooters and 6000 bucks later, they were ready to leave. Red got up and went to the washroom. It was all downhill from there. Everything started spinning. Waves of nausea hit her hard. The rest, as they say, was history. The boys had a really tough time in attempting to extricate her from the bathroom. Let’s just say that Red’s exit from Kylin was considerably less dignified than her entry. Somehow she made it to the car. Arrow and G-unit tried to soothe her, tried to convince her that everything was going to be all right. But she refused to believe them. After all, they were the ones responsible for her condition. ‘Liars,’ she thought malevolently, in the midst of her hysteria.

They couldn’t take her home in that state. She was freaking out about throwing up. It was the first time she had ever been so drunk. Arrow called up an old buddy, Sid. ‘We’re all drunk, we need to crash at your place,’ he said by way of explanation. Sid actually accepted this. That’s what you call a true friend. They made it to his house. Sid was remarkably nonchalant about the whole situation. Clearly he had done this before. He showed Red to the bathroom where she threw up for the fourth and final time. They put her to bed. She was soon out like a light. Everyone went to sleep.

Red woke up at 4 am. The pain in her stomach refused to cease. G-unit lay snoring nearby. She woke him up and whined a little. He grunted in sympathy and promptly went back to sleep. Arrow popped in his head through the door to check on her. ‘You evil man,’ she snarled at him. He just grinned in response and gave her some bread to eat. It didn’t alleviate the stomachache though. She was unable to sleep for the rest of the night.

At around 7 am Sid burst into the room with a steaming cup of coffee. Red started complaining. He nodded his head knowingly and outlined all the agonies she would be going through that day. This didn’t help much, but succeeded in shutting her up. She drank the coffee and announced that she was feeling better. Everyone took this as a cue to make fun of her. Sid chastised Arrow for making her drink so much. Arrow defended himself by saying that he wasn’t forcing it down her throat. Sid responded that that was the same kind of logic espoused by drug peddlers. They laughed, while Red glowered at them from her corner. Arrow joked that Red had really ‘earned her stripes’ and that maybe they should have a ceremony but the murderous expression on Red’s face quelled him for the moment.

Red was eventually driven home and spent the rest of the day in bed, recuperating at a very slow pace. The next day, all her friends were ready with their ribbing, reminding her of the drunken calls she had made to them. R-man jokingly asked her whether she had de-toxified enough. She responded with a swift kick in the shin. They all had their own views on her misadventure but in the end everyone had the same reassuring thing to say – ‘Hota hai.’

It’s called Kamikaze for a reason.

Gotcha!!

2007-03-12T03:59:00.000-07:00

To say that VJF (full name undisclosed due to legal and personal security reasons) likes pranks would be a gross understatement. When I first met this practical joker, I (like all others) perceived a bespectacled, serious-eyed and seemingly harmless individual. But I was soon to discover the truth - the evil that lurked within.

In the initial months, he lay low, and I had little reason to take special notice of him among a sea of new classmates. The first time he ever really caught my attention was at the start of my Indian Foreign Policy exam in first semester. When I proceeded to keep my bag at the front of the exam hall with all the others he interrupted me with the following counsel. “Oh no, you’re not supposed to keep your bag there unless you’re planning to write your exam for the full three hours. If you want to stay for two hours, keep your bag on the left and if it’s for one hour then keep it on the right,” he advised. I gaped at him for five seconds, as my brain struggled to process this. Then I caught the glint in his eye, the first hint of mischief that I was later to witness the full force of. “You’re kidding,” I declared, grinning at him. From then on, I always sought to double-check any information received from this dubious source.

I believe that VJF’s always had a genius for practical jokes. It is hardly a talent that can be acquired. But it is the good-natured innocence of our classmates that inspired him to new heights of creativity. He used any and all information they provided him as weapons to wreak havoc on their otherwise peaceful existence. So a complaint lodged with DHL or IBM became fodder for prank calls from rude customer-care executives refusing to return the sari B was trying to send her mum unless she gave them atrocious amounts of money (the last straw for poor B was when he offered her a diary or a pen as consolation) or from polite but dense lady called ‘Lata’ who listened patiently for ten minutes as R raved and ranted about his laptop problems and his dissatisfaction with the after-sales service and then, as R paused for breath, innocently remarked ‘Sir, you seem a little upset' - a penetrating observation that rendered R speechless for several seconds. I too was once victim to a call from HDFC, generously offering me loans. I steadied myself for a firm and polite but rude if necessary refusal when laughter at the other end of the line gave the game away.

He always claims that there is a lot about him that I don’t know. But here is what I do know –
(a) If he is in possession of any photo of you chances are that it will make a public appearance in the form of a ‘wanted’ poster or a morphed picture on your birthday card.

(b) If you go on a trip with him, he will take several photographs of you while you sleep and use them at a later date for various purposes (all nefarious).

(c) If your birthday is coming up, he will devise some gag-gifts for you, which involve your greatest dislikes. E.g. on her birthday, V was sent off from the University with an ‘I heart Himesh’ poster stuck to the back of her car thus giving most of South Delhi an eyeful of a rather public proclamation of poor taste in music and men.

(d) If you exit the classroom for a few minutes, it is probable that you will come back and find that your pen has been completely dismantled and its various parts have been disbursed among your friends. The probability of this event doubles if you happen to be R.

(e) VJF ALWAYS has a plan.

However, he does pride himself on originality so his pranks will mostly remain unrepeated, each one unique and more devious than the last. In that case, all but the last of the facts I have related above are useless to you, his next victim.

We find that close association with him over a long period has all but destroyed our credibility amongst our peers. But the blame for this is not his alone, as it seems that there is a prankster within us all and contagion-by-proximity works to bring out your dark side till you find yourself working in cahoots with the devil whenever he chooses to let you in on his plan. I myself have been inspired to come up with ideas like wetting the bed of our hapless friend while he slept and then clicking his pictures, wet splotches on the sheets and all.

VJF consistently disapproves of our lifestyles and pretty much anything we care to mention (and probably all that we don’t). He can always be counted on for snide comments, misinformation, evil tricks and really random (and surprisingly accurate) factoids about things that few people on the planet would know etc. etc. It is the run-of-the-mill stuff that legends are made of.

Most recently, our prankster par excellence acquired a cell-phone after a near-lifetime of swearing off the contraptions. This of course sparked off a series of stalker-like messages to his female friends, most significant of all being from ‘creepy Tapas Ghosh’ who inundated B with effusive messages for two whole days. She finally guessed the truth and he reluctantly had to kill-off one of his favorite characters. On close examination of his latest possession B made a discovery which she remarked with a shudder as being ‘So scary’. That’s right, people. El Diablo himself is now equipped with a camera phone. Be afraid… Be VERY afraid!!

To All Creatures Great and Small .. Stay out of my Bathroom!!!

2007-03-05T09:43:00.000-08:00

For people who live with family or roommates, the bathroom is often the one place where one can enjoy a few moments of peaceful solitude. On most days the morning shower is a time for quiet reflection on past events, for formulating current plans of action and even for letting out that closet singer for an enthusiastic if off-key rendition of Alanis Morissette songs.

Today was not one of those days.

In the midst of the drama of soap and shampoo and steaming hot water, I was alarmed to discover that I was not the only player. A wasp - cheeky observer of the yellow, winged thing variety was flitting about only inches away. Now I’ve had a few experiences with these buggers which many times ended in me getting stung and the wasp getting smashed – literally that is (my idea of revenge, for future reference, is not really to pour alcohol down the adversary’s throat). The bathroom isn't very big so 'two' was constituting quite a crowd.

Normally, my first instinct in such encounters is to exit the room and yell for the maid, who will come scuttling in armed with her weapon of choice – usually a jhaadoo or chappal. Her fearlessness in dealing with any kind of vermin, reptile or insect is unparalleled, her vengeance unmatched, and her propensity for violence in handing out death sentences to these unfortunate creatures almost Terminator-like. Last year, when the family was experiencing one of the rare same-place-at-the same-time phenomena, a huge cockroach had the audacity to interrupt the moment. Like true brave-hearts, we drew our legs up on the bed and screamed bloody murder. The maid, responding to the SOS, rushed to the scene jhaadoo in hand and spotting the offender, proceeded to wage war. WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, WHACK!! – she went as we watched, discovering the true meaning of the phrase ‘horrid fascination’. Obviously a firm believer in doing the thing properly, she added a few stamps for good measure, even after having removed all vestiges of life out of the defenseless roach. In the dead silence that followed, my sister with a perfectly straight face chose to ask a pertinent question - “Mar gaya kya?” Needless to say, hilarity ensued and we were all helpless with laughter for quite a while.

I am usually unable to kill insects and find the very idea of swatting them with newspapers or slippers gross beyond comprehension. But I can imagine wielding a fly-swatter with ease. For this discrimination I have no explanation other than the satisfaction of a device fulfilling its stated purpose.

In today’s particular situation, I had the choice neither to kill nor to call for backup. I was especially vulnerable in an unclothed, unarmed, dripping wet kind of way. The wasp buzzed away happily hovering between me and the door. In a stand-off, moves are made after a stipulated countdown. Clearly not caring about the formal rules of engagement, the blasted thing suddenly darted in my general direction causing me to start and take a step back. The shampoo flowed into my eyes, momentarily blinding me and generating panic of the sputtering, gasping and senseless-thrashing-about variety. As I recovered my wits, I was glad that no human was witness to my embarrassment. I could well imagine the wasp laughing at me, even flying home to the hive and relating the incident at dinner to the amusement of his family. Jerry, his smart-ass brother might even do imitations. Oh the mortification!!

Anyway, he apparently decided that I had suffered enough and settled contentedly on the windowsill. I kept a wary eye on him as I continued to wash my hair. Oh, I could have left right there and then, but I had to wait 60 seconds for the conditioner to work. Vanity is often greater than fear you see.

A Brush with Death

2007-02-23T10:05:00.000-08:00

On one fine day in our final semester at the esteemed university that we grace with our presence on a near daily basis, the gang started to pursue the idea that we should visit ‘the caves’ that are rumored to exist somewhere deep in the barren and isolated parts of our vast campus.

This bright idea had occurred to us at least once every semester. In fact, some of us had even set out resolutely for this bit of exploration last year but soon gave up due to the rather suspect navigational skills of our fellow student and guide who didn’t know the exact location but had kept mumbling on occasion rather knowingly that they were somewhere behind the Sanskrit Center. A fat lot of help this was since ‘somewhere’ covered the entire expanse of rocky, thorny area behind that Center. After walking pointlessly for 20 minutes we decided to head back. This decision was precipitated by the discovery of a lizard on Rishabh’s leg. And here I must mention the casual manner in which this fact was pointed out by his girlfriend. Never in my life will I hear a girl say in such matter-of-fact tones “there’s a lizard on your pants.” I have such great respect for her. Anyway, once Rishabh was done squealing and shaking the reptile off, we were ready to return to civilization, our nerves and our faith in VJF (the guide) considerably shaken.

To get back to the point (do I have one? – you wonder), last Tuesday, I set out with a different set of friends including Veda, Bindiya and Ranjit - a diverse and lovable set of eccentrics - with the same purpose but greater determination. We decided to ditch the absent elements of our gang because well, lets face it, on what normal day would everyone present be wearing the appropriate shoes for a long walk through the rough terrain. We girls had abandoned our strappy sandals for this very task – Mission Caves.

Vague directions were obtained from a friend of Ranjit's and we were off. It seemed simple enough – follow the path behind the Center until you come to some sort of hut construction, and then take the path leading upwards. However, these directions belied the complexity of this hunt. We encountered several forks in the path and trusting our instincts often led us to dead ends and large thorny bushes and so we had to retrace our steps many times. The whole area was completely isolated and for a while the silence was only broken by the crunching of dry grass under our feet and the occasional rattling of snakes nearby which was mildly unnerving till we just got used to it.

Then we started getting clever (which never augurs well for any kind of expedition) with the use of logic and deduction. We looked for clues of human presence along whatever path we went down - and when I say ‘path’ I mean these narrow and barely discernible strips of sandy ground. The following clues pointed us in the right direction (Nancy Drew would’ve been soooo proud) –
(a) A crumpled and faded bidi packet
(b) A small pile of stones which looked like it had been arranged by jobless human hands.
(c) A crushed plastic bottle
(d) A packet of Nirodh condoms - empty (somebody apparently got lucky)

Bindiya was the observant one and would point these things out with a thoughtful ‘What does THIS mean?’ She was particularly intrigued by the arrangement of stones but I think the one common but unspoken thought that flashed through all our minds was when we chanced upon that condom packet – ‘Here?!! Sharp rocks, thorny bushes, hard, uneven ground – bloody uncomfortable!! Desperate folks man.’ Anyway, with the help of these clues (and another call to Ranjit’s friend) we reached a point near the outskirts of the campus, which we felt was very close to our destination.

At this time, two men who were clearly not students popped up from nowhere. A little surprised at their sudden appearance we silently let them pass us. We watched as they started down some path we hadn’t yet noticed and then called out to ask if they knew where the caves were. One started waving his arms indicating a completely different route circling the campus and the other wanted to know who we were. When we asked them where the path they were taking led, we got no definite answer. Our suspicions aroused we decided to take that very path, at which point their demeanor became extremely shady. They seemed disconcerted and alarmed as we crossed them and discovered that the caves were right below where we stood. One of them walked up to us and told us that we shouldn’t go down there because there were too many men - ‘ aur phir lafda ho jayega’ he finished ominously.

Here we paused to survey the elements of our situation – (i) two extremely suspicious characters vs. three girls and one guy (ii) for protection armed with one mild mannered, soft-spoken Madrasi who I’ve never even heard yelling at anyone. The next day's headlines flashed before my eyes - Lunatics Slay Four on University Campus - and strangely enough this made me want to laugh.

The Shady Bros. were clearly set against our procession and who knew how they would react if we persisted. So we had a look at the caves from above and then decided to leg it. Protective Ranjit ushered us away from the scene of impending crime. Deep in thought we made our way back. What could possibly be going on down there? Who were those two characters? These were some of the questions that remain unanswered in spite of various plausible and implausible theories raised. I think they were running some kind of sex racket – hey! Nirodh speaks for itself!

So thus ended our adventure at the caves. Somewhat of an anti-climax I admit. Next time, I’m taking a stick and enhanced manpower. But, in the end, looking for the caves was any day much more exciting than looking at them, as we realised.

At this juncture, you might be wondering about the title of this post. Well, it is a bit of an exaggeration, maybe a tad over-dramatised. Okay Okay. I lied, I LIED!! Let down are you? So sue me.

Neat-freaks?? I think NOT!!

2007-02-09T03:28:00.000-08:00

I live in a mess. It’s true. No chair or bed or sofa or table is bereft of books, clothes and newspapers. The curse of living in the same house for over twenty years is that you tend to accumulate a lot of junk. This, accompanied with the tendency to not want to throw anything away, gives you what I lovingly call home.

My siblings flew the coop long ago leaving behind all their stuff, which till date lies rotting in a variety of suitcases and drawers. I gave up on tidying long ago, owing partly to laziness and partly to the feeling of helplessness that overcomes me as I cast my eye on endless shelves of completely useless items that surround me, the feeling that only moving to a new house will alleviate the situation. The maid (who has been with us longer than the mess), having learnt her lesson the hard way through previous experiences of creating more chaos by putting things away where nobody can find them and consequently being yelled at, now turns a blind eye and leaves us to continue to not pick up after ourselves. Mum is the only one that takes the effort to sort some things out from time to time, especially when the pile of newspapers reaches dangerous heights, swaying treacherously and threatening to bury us all one day under 90 days’ worth of bad headlines.

So accustomed to the mess are we, that we’ve started working by the logic that it is easier to locate an item if it is –
(a) visible at all time
(b) liable to be sat on occasionally
This logic sometimes does fail. But that is nothing compared to what happens if a member of the household, seized by conscience, decides one day, to pick up something and put it in its proper place. And by proper place, I mean anywhere that violates both the conditions mentioned above. Since we never believe in doing anything until the very last minute, leaving the house becomes a bit of a problem owing to an inevitably missing item. Chaos ALWAYS ensues. Consider the following scenario: we’re getting ready to go out, and we have five minutes before having to leave when -

Mum: Where is my green sweater?

Me (gesturing): Must be on the bed

Mum: It’s not there

Me (calling the maid and issuing the following instructions): Mom ka haraa walaa sweater dekho kahaan hai

Maid (diving into various piles of clothes and procuring a black sweater): Yeh waala?

Me (exasperated): HARAA!!!

Maid (hopefully, holding out a blue sweater): Yeh?

Me (glaring): Yeh haraa hai kya?

Maid (admitting it is not and then choosing to deny all knowledge of the existence of a green sweater): Maine toh kabhi nahi dekha

Mum (interjecting): Arre maine doh din pehle pehna tha

Maid (disappearing with an offended sniff and returning minutes later with a green blouse): Iski baat kar rahe ho?
Apparently she thinks we’d be happy with anything that satisfies either of the two cited criteria - sweater OR green. I’m convinced she does it deliberately just to infuriate us enough to make her stop looking.

The search continues until the room is even untidier than before. Eventually the sweater is found tucked away in the nether regions of some drawer. Either that or Mum makes do with the black sweater.

Once, Mum made the colossal error of being transferred to a place like Shillong, leaving the house to the mercy of my indifference for a number of months. Things got a bit out of hand that year. I remember, once in a fit of mistimed hospitality, I invited a bunch of friends over to my place, when we were hanging out in a market nearby. The misguided fools happily accepted my invitation, having never been to my house before. As we entered the bedroom, which is generally unoccupied, I noticed, as I’m sure they did, that the bed was overflowing with clothes and blankets. I waited for comments like “Wow, it looks like you’ve just been robbed” and ‘Man, is this the only part of the house that the tornado hit?” Instead, after the slightly stunned silence, one voice pipes up “So you live alone huh?” Surprised, I gestured towards the bed as the obvious answer to the unnecessary question, and invited them to sit. “Where?” was what I read in their faces, but they good-naturedly sat atop the layer that covered the bed. “Wow, you have a lot of books,” one of them commented, looking around. “Books?” I thought to myself “HELLO?!? What about the MOUNTAIN OF CLOTHES you’re sitting on?!?” But all I could say was “Yeah! I do” and hope fervently that none of them was sitting on any pair of my personal.. ummm.. ‘delicate’ items. To this day, I am not sure whether it was sheer politeness or a resigned acceptance of ‘their-friend-the-slob’ that prevented them from displaying the expected reaction. Since I know that tact is not one of their strengths, I strongly suspect it was the latter.

Anyway, generally whenever I have company (expected of course) I make the effort to at least clear up some place to sit. But, I confess, this merely involves shoving the wandering items into whatever space is available. So next time you come to my place, you will find the room looking relatively tidy and the bed mercifully devoid of clothing. Errrr .. just don’t go opening any cupboards, okay?

The Unfinished Song

2007-02-06T06:20:00.000-08:00

Where has the music gone?
Without turning back
Crept away in the darkness
No sign of return

In the stillness of the night
Leaving only sounds
Of breath and heartbeat and ticking clocks
Waiting feet tapping to the rhythm of time

Moonlight through the window
Falls upon a silent guitar
Whose echoes lay gathering dust
And are now lost in the wind

Floating just within reach
Is the unfinished song
Slipping through the fingers
Of my outstretched hands

Strings be still no longer
Let me strum my song
So I can play my part
As the show goes on

While the cat is away…

2007-01-29T23:24:00.000-08:00

So the mother went off to Bombay over the weekend in response to not-so-subtle hints dropped by her other daughter and her son-in-law, leaving the spacious comforts of an empty house to yours truly. Left with very little choice, I did the most natural thing in the world and had my friends over for an evening of most uncivilized fun and frolic.

The noise levels shot through the roof – the neighbors were shooting dirty looks at me the next morning – as we giggled and screamed our way through the night. Food and drink were imbibed, as always, in plenty (excellent biryani I have to say). Drunken phone calls were made to friends vacationing in Manali and suspicious substances were demanded. Trashy TV shows were watched, made fun of and dismissed. All in all, one of the more successful events. Exhausted, we fell into bed at 3 am and proceeded to sleep like logs until 11 in the morning.

Sunday got off to a slow start, with us lounging in bed till 1. Finally we dragged ourselves out and made ourselves presentable enough to leave the house. As the gals left to go back to their hostels, I made my way to Khan Market to meet Gaurav (‘G’ from previous post – I give up on this whole identity protection thing) for lunch. We were joined by Unaise – a madcap friend from college – who suddenly got it into his head that we MUST drive down to Gurgaon for Gelato ice cream. “Why not?” he demanded. Unable to think of a suitable reply, we assented and got into his car. I must say, as I sampled my Belgian Chocolate flavored ice cream 40 minutes later that it had been worth the drive. And anyway, who says that everything you do has to make sense.

Sunday night was another pleasurable evening spent with friends I hadn’t met in a long time. We sat around playing our favorite songs on acoustic guitars and discussing all things musical and some things non-musical. I haven’t enjoyed a weekend so much in a long time.

Today, I rode on a bike!! For the very first time!! Of course it was a just five minute ride home courtesy my old pal Romit. But still – very first time!! I think I gave myself away on that count as I gazed with a certain amount of trepidation at the contraption while he was starting it and asked “So .. how do I get on this thing???” His look of disbelief and vague reply of “You just… get ON it!!” didn’t help much but I managed. I held on for dear life as he shot down the road. He kept shouting “YOU WON’T FALL OFF!!” in an uncharacteristic display of thoughtful reassurance. Actually he could’ve been shouting “YOU’RE GOING TO FALL OFF!!” for all I could tell what with the wind roaring in my ears. It certainly would explain the evil chuckle that always followed. Still I thank him for the exhilarating experience, however short-lived.

The enforcer of discipline (and I use this term loosely, since there aren't many rules around here) returns tomorrow. I shall greet her with a glad heart. I’m completely out of funds, you see. But more importantly, as one huddles under a blanket in a dark, empty house on a cold, wet night such as this with the scary thunder crackling so loud that it makes the bars on your windows rattle – one wants one’s mommy!!

Mumbai Magic

2007-01-22T10:22:00.000-08:00

I recently took a trip down to Mumbai to visit my sister and her husband. It felt good to escape from the bitter cold of the Delhi winters into the welcoming arms of Bombay’s warm days and pleasant evenings. Sitting by the sea at Bandstand after sunset, enjoying a cool, playful breeze and breathing in the salty sea air, the crashing of the waves muting the laughter and chatter around us, could one be anything but happy?
The city is alive with lights and sounds. People are everywhere, gathered in crowded streets, restaurants, parks and beaches. They seem at ease, with each other, with themselves. They talk and laugh or just sit quietly. They welcome you but they let you be. I don’t feel judged and I don’t feel like a stranger. I find myself at ease.
Everything seems friendlier here – from the cheery passers-by whom you ask for directions to the amiable auto-wallahs who are ready to transport you anywhere without arguing over the fare. Even the dogs are friendlier. One stray sidled up to me and gazed at me appealingly. Always a sucker for those chocolate brown eyes, I scratched him tentatively behind the ear. In response he placed a paw squarely on my foot, repeating this with alternate front paws several times. We sat and looked out onto the sea for a few minutes and then got up and went our separate ways. I imagine him safe and warm and happy, with occasional company to look out at the sea with.

The week flew by in a flurry of laughter, music and bizarre conversations sprinkled with the acrimonious arguments that accompany most family vacations. My favorite part of the trip was a night at the Hard Rock Café in Worli. I and my friends – the brothers G & S – drifted around in a daze, generally oohing and aahing at the memorabilia, especially the displays of various guitars autographed by those legends of rock that we’ve worshipped for years. We used up the time before getting a table in spending outrageous amounts of money on HRC T-Shirts. On being seated, we ate and drank in vast quantities, sang with great enthusiasm, loudly and untunefully, along with all the songs played that night (awesome sound system, terrific acoustics) and generally drove the DJ bonkers with requests. We cheered when all the waiters hopped up on to counters and shook a leg to 'YMCA'.

It was finally time to call it a night. While our bill was being generated, I found my way to the washroom which was filled with what seemed to be, at first glance, the Spice Girls!?! On closer observation, I discovered that they were just girls, clad in halter tops and short skirts, caked with two pounds of make up, chattering shrilly. It was a tiny room and these dumbbells were just taking up space because it seems unheard of for a lady to go and tend to the call of nature alone these days. As they continued to blab and giggle and powder already over-powdered faces in the mirror, I realized that none had any intention of actually using the toilet. Incensed by this unnecessary crowding of a cramped space, I took out a tissue and blew my nose loudly in a most un-ladylike fashion causing three of them to exit hurriedly in alarm and disgust. I entered a stall with a satisfied smirk. When I came out I was surprised and a little disconcerted to hear my name being screamed. I looked up and there at the door was a friend from Delhi – let’s call her Sneha. We chatted outside the washrooms with G while S paid the bill. When we left the building, I informed him about bumping into my friend. S, who is interested in ‘meeting’ women these days and who was also far from being totally sober, began the following conversation –

S: Why didn’t you introduce me to her?
Me: Oh please, she’s not your type anyway.
S (obstinately): But I love Sneha!!
Me (pointing out the obvious): But you don’t even know her!!
S (moving on to greener pastures): I love RHCP!!
Me (taken aback by this abrupt change of subject): Eh? Uhhh.. Ok..
S: Have you heard Sircadium Arcadium?
Me (sighing): You mean Stadium Arcadium.
S (confidingly): I’m drunk.
After this prime example of the bizarre conversations I mentioned earlier, we hailed a taxi and were transported to our respective abodes.

I was sorry when the week ended – sorry to say goodbye to my sister and S who also lives there, sorrier to say goodbye to Natural’s ice-cream which I’d made sure to eat twice a day whether I felt like it or not just because it’s so damn good (every bite is like a little taste of heaven)!!
With a sigh I bid farewell to the warmth and magic of Mumbai and left for my hometown. And I can't wait to go back for more. But in spite of the occasional longings and fond memories, it's always good to be home.

A special word to S – You don’t HAVE to go to the Hard Rock Café every week and tell us about it!! Oh and also, we discovered that Natural’s can pack the ice-cream in dry ice which will keep it cold for 24 hours, so next time you come to Delhi.. errrr.. well.. never mind. But Fig is my favorite flavor. Wink wink.